Mask of Innocence
by ArcherGal2932
Summary: Legolas is only a child in Elven years, but that does not mean that evil cannot touch him. The child is captured and held captive in Dol Guldar, and unbeknownst to the Elves Sauron has more up his sleeve besides a kidnapping. Much more.
1. Prologue

******Mask of Innocence

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**

******Disclaimer:**** I own nothing of Tolkien's works and never will, and I make no profit off this writing.**

******Rating:**** T - some violence, a wee bit 'o torture, angst, character death, and implied mature themes (thoughts of suicide)**

******Summary: The young Prince Legolas is captured and taken to Dol Guldar, and within days King Thranduil gives up all hope of finding his child. Little does he know that Sauron has terrible plans up his sleeve for conquering the ****Woodland**** Realm, and that those plans involve Legolas. **

**A/N: Yipee, new fic! This will be quite a long story; I am guessing over thirty chapters once finished. It is a dark story, and not quite for the weak-hearted, as there may be character death in the near future. **

**Warning: This is not a movie about a happy little Elf. If you wish to read about a happy little Elf who has no hurts or tears, I believe there is another story posted by another, more happy author just for you. In this story, the characters suffer under a series of unfortunate events, and tragedy befalls them many times.../ahem/ Sorry, wrong book. ; )Butdon't say I didn't warn you. I think you'll find out easily enough with this first chapter...mwhahaha**

**-ArcherGal2932

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**

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"…**Do not be afraid of those who kill the body but cannot kill the soul; **

**Rather, be afraid of the one who can destroy both soul and body…" **

**Matthew 10: 28**

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**Prologue**

_2062 T.A., Taur-e-Ndaedelos (Forest of the Great Fear)_

A single scream was the only thing that let him know that his boys had brought back what he wanted.

"_Gwanno ereb nín! Daro!"_ The pleading wail echoed through the dark chambers. The lord smiled. This one would not be hard to break. _Pity, son of Thranduil, I would expect more from the offspring of such a stubborn Elf._

The servants pounded on the doors.

"Enter." The lord hissed, satisfaction dripping from his voice like poison.

The black doors swung open and a tiny golden figure was thrown in. The figure immediately curled in on itself, sensing the danger and evil he was suddenly surrounded by.

"Ada! Please, no…_Ada!_" The being whimpered softly as if he was in a daze. Valar, this could not be happening to him.

The lord, who had been sitting on his obsidian throne, stepped towards the fair child who was lying on the ground at his feet. It shrunk away from him.

The child was terrified of the thing towering over him and did not want to be any closer. Stooping to his prisoner's level, the lord seized the neck of the being before him and threw him against the wall. His prisoner whimpered and cried out, gasping for air. The lord forced the little sapphire-eyed one to look into the black pits where red eyes glimmered from their depths.

"Welcome to Dol Guldar, Prince Legolas of the Woodland Realm."

**TBC**

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**A/N: You love? You hate? Drop me a review and tell me what you think so far. From here, I will post chapter one a little later, and from there a new chapter about every week, maybe sooner, maybe later. Hope you will stick around for the rest of the story, and I promise, it only gets better. ; )**

**Until then, _n__amárië._**

**_-_ArcherGal2932**


	2. I: A Portrait

**Mask of Innocence ****

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****Disclaimer: I own nothing of Tolkien's works and never will, and I make no profit off this writing. **

**Rating: T - some violence, a wee bit 'o torture, angst, character death, and implied mature themes (thoughts of suicide)**

**Summary: The young Prince Legolas is captured and taken to Dol Guldar, and within days King Thranduil gives up all hope of finding his child. Little does he know that Sauron has terrible plans up his sleeve for conquering the Woodland Realm, and that those plans involve Legolas. **

**A/N: First chapter is now up, expect the next one in about a week. Hope you enjoy, and please review.**

**-ArcherGal2932 **

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****Chapter One – A Portrait**

_November 2nd, 2062 – Five days earlier_

Thranduil sat bolt upright in his bed. Blinking franticly, he struggled to focus and catch his breath. His heart was pounding. Groaning, Thranduil buried his face in the sweaty palms of his hands. Something was wrong. As much as he did not want to believe it, his heart screamed at him that something was terribly wrong.

A soft knock interrupted his thoughts.

"Yes?" Thranduil questioned wearily.

The door opened silently, and a servant stepped in and bowed respectively.

"My lord, a messenger has arrived with urgent news. Do you wish to speak with him in your study, my lord?"

"Yes, thank you. I will be there momentarily."

The servant left without a sound.

Thranduil pulled his green robes over his sleeping-tunic quickly. The first rays of dawn were shining in from the king's open balcony, and the faint sunlight cast a warm glow over the sleek marble walls. The rays fell upon a painting hanging upon the bedchamber walls in full force, and it caught Thranduil's eye suddenly. The portrait was of three Elves together, one a father and the little one a tiny infant. The mother stood behind her husband, looking on proudly as he held their child in his strong arms. It was the father and son that had stolen Thranduil's gaze.

_It is odd, _thought Thranduil, _that something so small and fragile could steal the father's strong heart. He is enthralled in this tiny innocent Elven child that could die even exposed to the weather._

By a glance, the father and son in the image seemed exact opposites. With his tunic off, rippling muscles could be seen throughout the father's torso, his frame slender, strong and resilient from constant years of battle ages ago. His golden hair was sleek and clean, hanging in straight locks just above his shoulders and crowned with a circlet of gold entwined with springtime flowers. The father was a king. Thranduil recognized the king's clear, glinting emerald eyes, and knew that they were hard and cold unless they gazed upon a loved one or friend.

On the other hand, the little prince in the king's arms had the sparkling blue eyes of his mother that were bright with innocence, a shock of pale-gold hair just now growing in upon his tiny head. He had the flesh of his mother also, a shade of cream as warm as sunlight, unmarred by the scars and horrors of battle. The color of the blanket that the child lay in was not unlike the splashes of cerulean on Gil-galad's armor worn years ago in the Last Alliance. The child in the portrait was a quarter of a decade old now in real life, and this Thranduil knew.

Many years ago, a terrible tragedy had befallen the family. The Elven lady had been killed before the eyes of her husband by the Orcs in a sudden attack, leaving their infant son without a mother. Thranduil remembered the day like it was yesterday, and how a close friend of the husband had found the family in the forest and aided the father in raising the child. The friend's name was Imrathon, and he was captain of the Woodland Realm's entire armed forces and part of the _maethorâr_ - the king's guard. He had been the husband's friend for hundreds of years before the tragedy, and continued to be to this day.

"_Will you raise the child yourself?"_

"_Yes, that is my intention."_

"_I will help, mellon-nín, if you wish it to be."_

"_Hannon le, Imrathon. But I do not need a nurse for the boy. He will be fine with me."_

"_That is true, but when you are away on negotiations and trade who will take care of him then? There is no other in your family. Your mother faded after your father was killed, your wife is dead-"_

"_I know what befell my family, Imrathon! I will thank you in advance for not bringing it up again! I died the day she was ripped from my heart. I am now forced to live an eternity without her, but I will not fade. Not while the child is alive."_

"…_Forgive me…I did not know…"_

"_It is all right, Imrathon. Ú-moe edhored. There is nothing to forgive."_

"_Yet I offer my services to you. I will guard the child with my life. You know that. I can be his companion if you wish, a guardian, and an instructor once he reaches the proper age. Saes, mellon-nín, accept my offer. If I should fail in any way, I am yours to dispose of in whatever way seems fit. Saes, please, do it for the child."_

"…_I accept."_

The memory faded away, and Thranduil realized what hour it was with a jolt. He had tarried too long. With a loving smile for the woman and child in the portrait, Thranduil rushed out of his bedchamber, heading for his study to hear the messenger's report. He did not glance at the writing inscribed in the bottom of the portrait, for he had read it thousands of times and knew what it said by heart:

_May the child born by the love of Thranduil and Vanya prosper and live in peace for all the ages,_

_for great things await the heir of Oropher._

**TBC

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A/N: Yes, no nasty cliffhanger in this one. They'll start up after four or five I think. hehehehe. Next week: Chapter Two - Of Excited Elflings! **

Until then, _namárië._

-ArcherGal2932

A/N: Yes, no nasty cliffhanger in this one. They'll start up after four or five I think. hehehehe. Next week: Chapter Two - Of Excited Elflings! 


	3. II: Of Excited Elflings

**Mask of Innocence

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**

**A/N:** **This story is dedicated to Legolass Q/Legolass, whom was so kind to give me great tips and comments on my work. This story would not have gotten as far as it has (twenty-two chapters and counting!) if it had not been for her! _Hannon le!_**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing of Tolkien's works and never will, and I make no profit off this writing. ALL HAIL THE GREAT PROFESSOR! lol**

**Rating: T**

**Summary: The young Prince Legolas is captured and taken to Dol Guldar, and within days King Thranduil gives up all hope of finding his child. Little does he know that Sauron has terrible plans up his sleeve for conquering the Woodland Realm, and that those plans involve Legolas.**

**A/N: Thank you to everyone who has been reviewing!**

**Legolass Q** - I was so happy to see that you were my first reviewer! Thanks again for all your help with this story, and I owe you a ton!

**fallen angel **- Thank you for your kind words. I apologize if I confused you at all, but Legolas is actually a young child - between 3 and 5 in human years, and about 25 in Elven years - so no, he should not be more courageous. But it would certainly be a disappointment if our hunky guy was so cowardly in the LOTR movies, eh/wink wink/

**LazloTitan36 **- I have a #1 fan already? I only posted two chapters! Amazing! But thank you so much for your compliments, you certainly made my day brighter. Yes, evil has a way of being cool at times, doesn't it? I think that's why I find myself laughing maniacally whenever the Witchking appears in either Tolkien's works or Peter's movies. lol.

**Well, here's chapter two, and yes, I did not wait a week. I was feeling happy and generous since I got to see a certain someone tonight (no, not Legolas!) when I took my puppy on a walk, so here you go!**

**-ArcherGal2932****

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****Chapter Two – Of Excited Elflings**

_November 1st, 2062 - One day before Chapter One: A Portrait_

Fading starlight poured in through an open balcony, faintly illuminating a peaceful figure sleeping upon his bed. The last of the crickets were chirping quietly down below in the forest, the chill of autumn already beginning to force the majority of them to warmer places. Everyone and everything else was silent and still, fast asleep in the kingdom of the Elves.

Everyone, except one.

Without warning the wooden door to the bedroom opened silently, and a tiny figure slipped in without a sound. Tiptoeing up to the sleeping Elf, the person reached up and twisted a lock of golden hair around tiny fingers and tugged sharply. The Elf rolled over with a groan. He did not respond.

"Ada…wake up…" the intruder whispered anxiously. "Ada…"

The Elf was silent. Annoyed, the small one climbed up on top of the bed and planted himself directly on top of the Elf's chest, poking him in random places.

"Ada!"

"What, Legolas?" The king asked drowsily, not opening his eyes. He yawned, and since he was unable to roll back over because of a certain elfling that had decided to sit on top of him, he turned his head to the side and buried his face into the soft pillow.

"Ada! The hunting trip – 'tis today!" Legolas whispered excitedly, bouncing up and down on his father happily. The Woodland king grunted.

"Legolas, it is not even dawn yet…" He protested tiredly.

"Imrathon said we'd leave at dawn, silly! We are going to have so much fun!" Legolas exclaimed breathlessly. The bed jostled slightly as the Elven child jumped around anxiously, struggling to get his father to get up.

"That's wonderful, child, but will you please cease to use me as a substitute for a mattress to jump upon?" Thranduil said with his voice muffled. Legolas sat back quickly, but immediately began to shake the king by his shoulders instead.

"Ada, you do not want to say goodbye to me when I leave?" Legolas asked unhappily. He stopped bouncing when Thranduil did not answer at first.

"Well…"

"YES!" Legolas grabbed Thranduil and pulled him out of bed, yanking him to his feet. Thranduil trudged over to the wash basin and splashed the cold water onto his face, trying to wake himself up. He proceeded to sluggishly get dressed as Legolas circled him like a vulture, then choosing to hop around like a little sparrow. "Ada, if you do not hurry up you'll be late!" Legolas complained as Thranduil pulled on his emerald-green robes at his usual pace, but this morning to Legolas it felt like his father was taking forever. But before the king could remind his son to be patient, a warm voice spoke up from the doorway.

"Child, what are you doing up so early?"

Legolas spun around.

"Imrathon!" He cried out brightly, and flung himself at the dark-haired Elf. Imrathon laughed and swung the prince up and into an embrace, choking suddenly as Legolas locked his arms around his neck in a death-grip.

"Are you annoying your father, Legolas?" Imrathon teased with a smile once the child had released him. Legolas grinned, but shook his head.

"No, but he is taking such a long time!" he protested impatiently.

"Well, bugging him about it will not make him dress faster," Imrathon told him gently. Legolas' head slumped to his chest.

"I know, I know," he mumbled. Imrathon sat the child down on the stone floor and knelt down in front of him.

"How about you go get our horses ready? Maybe by the time you and the stable-hands are finished your adar will be ready to see us off, eh?" He suggested, giving Legolas a gentle nudge out of the room. Legolas bounded off excitedly. Imrathon turned around and greeted his king with a salute and a smile, touching his hand to his heart in respect.

"I wish Legolas wanted to go on this hunting trip, Imrathon. He does not seem excited enough," Thranduil commented wryly, listening to his son's footsteps fade into the distance. Imrathon burst out laughing.

"Indeed, my lord. I would not be surprised if he had been packed a week ago when you announced my intentions," Imrathon added. Thranduil clapped a hand onto the Elf's shoulder and invited him in to have a seat on one of the large, plush chairs.

"Thank you for taking him, Imrathon. Legolas has been dying to get out of the palace for months and run the forest like he once did, but with these recent attacks…" Thranduil broke off. His demeanor changed abruptly, from light and cheerful to a worried frown. His clear, emerald eyes met Imrathon's suddenly. "You will be armed on this trip?"

It was more of a statement than question, but Imrathon nodded immediately, knowing the conversation had turned serious. "I would not go anywhere without my weapons, my lord. Not anymore, and not even within our own borders," He told him bitterly, moving to gaze outside on the balcony window. Thranduil followed him. "I will take every precaution to guard the child, Thranduil. Of that I promise you," he pledged quietly. Thranduil nodded, but his heart was heavy and his brow furrowed suddenly. Imrathon gazed at him with concern, but easily guessed what was bothering the young father.

"I pledged to you years ago that I would guard the child with my life, Thranduil. And I will never break that promise. You know that, do you not?" He asked softly. Thranduil met Imrathon's sea-gray gaze with his own emerald eyes.

"Yes, I know," Thranduil said, and turned back to the forest that lay before him, his kingdom. He suddenly turned back. "You are my most trusted warrior, Imrathon, and the captain of not only the _maethorâr_ but my entire army. You would be the only warrior I would trust him with. But with the _yrch_ on such abundance, will he be safe?"

Imrathon looked away. "I cannot promise that no Orcs will attack us, but as long as I am with him I promise you Legolas will not be taken, nor will he be killed. Trust me as you once did, my friend. Please. I guard him with my life, and I swear to you that you will share in my own desire if it is your want to kill me."

Thranduil nodded and took a deep breath, trying to calm his anxious nerves. His sharp ears suddenly picked up the faint sounds of a small Elfling calling impatiently down below in the courtyard. He smiled, chuckling to himself. "Well, I believe an anxious elfling is waiting for us. Shall I see you two off?"

Imrathon smiled back. "Indeed. Nothing will happen to us, my lord. I promise."

**TBC**

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**A/N: Aha, famous last words, eh? Well, you'll just have to wait a week to find out what happens. I apologize in advance, for I believe the next one will be somewhat short, but longer than the prologue I assure you. Maybe I'll give you all a treat and post a little earlier than a week to make up for the somewhat short chapter. Sound all right?**

**I am also realizing that their have been some glitches in the FFnet network, because I am seeing words bunched together and sentences copied in some of my author notes. Just know that I am not a horrible speller or make huge grammatical mistakes (most of the time), it is just that the display is messed up or something. _Goheno nin._**

**Until then, _namárië._**

**-ArcherGal2932**


	4. III: Namárië

**Mask of Innocence****

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**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing of Tolkien's works and never will, and I make no profit off this writing**

**Rating: T**

**Summary: The young Prince Legolas is captured and taken to Dol Guldar, and within days King Thranduil gives up all hope of finding his child. Little does he know that Sauron has terrible plans up his sleeve for conquering the Woodland Realm, and that those plans involve Legolas.**

**A/N: All right, here is the next chapter! Since this is quite short I think I might put the next chapter up either later today or tomorrow, so look for that soon. Thanks to everyone who reviewed!**

**Legolass Q **- Of course it looks better posted! lol Again, thanks for all your help - this wouldn't have been posted otherwise.

**RuByMoOn17 -** Hope this was soon enough! Thanks for reviewing.

**LazloTitan36** - If you thought THAT was a cliffhanger, wait 'till the later chapters. ; ) With what you said on how Legolas is a hyper elfling now and a calm, noble prince in the War of the Ring, Elves are somewhat like people - you don't excactly see adults running around acting like 4-year-olds now do you? lol So there is a certain amoutn of maturity you gain as you age, and that is extremely visible in the Elven race. But on a more serious note, I kind of want to address that issue in my story - not necessarily 'why is he so noble?' because Elves are like that, but more of a 'is there something in his past that made him more mature?' because I believe that Legolas was only about 1,000 years old or so in the War of the Ring- not the fabled 2,931 years that Orlando told us in an interview - so that would have made him a very young Elf compared to all others. If you want a more detailed reason for why Legolas was more than likely born after the year 1000 T.A., here's a link: http/ But anyways, thanks for reviewing, LazloTitan.

**Moonyasha -** I am glad you think my story is unique! It will probably become even more so in the later chapters when secrets and conspiracies are revealed...hehehehe Thanks for reading, and I hope you will stick around for the rest of the long journey this story will take.

**_Hannon le!_**

**-ArcherGal2932

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**Chapter Three**:** Namárië**

Morning's first light was just peeking over the horizon when Imrathon and Legolas mounted their horses. The prince, of course, was riding a smaller, young horse that had been a gift from his father a little over a year ago when he started riding. Legolas had fallen in love with the baby horse at first sight, and without anyone knowing he had tried to take the colt for a trip out in the forest. His father had been stunned to learn that his son had tamed a colt that was not supposed to be fit for riding, but he allowed his son to keep the horse. So Nimbaran became the prince's.

Legolas had named the colt because of his color – the top of the horse's face, from the forehead down to the muzzle, was a shimmering white, a sapphire-silver streak marking the perimeter of the unusually large blaze. Strangely enough, the rest of Nimbaran was chestnut-colored, and even his mane and tail were the warm burgundy color. Nimbaran's eyes were the same color as Legolas' – a light cerulean unlike any other color. Nimbaran was a smart colt and one with a temper at times. Only Legolas could control him.

Imrathon rode a tall stallion, pearly white with a shining coat. He was groomed perfectly, not a speck of dirt on the beautiful horse's coat. Tâlgalad was his name, for he was light of foot and swifter than a fleeing buck.

"Are you all ready, Legolas?" Imrathon asked as they prepared to leave. Legolas nodded eagerly. Thranduil, with his green robes swaying in the light breeze and his golden hair dancing in the sun's warm rays, stepped forward and embraced his child warmly. He planted a kiss upon the prince's forehead where a silver circlet symbolizing his status framed his golden head, and smiled at his son.

"_Mára mesta_, my child. I wish you luck in beating Imrathon in hunting," Thranduil said with a grin, stepping back and allowing them to leave. Legolas shot him a glare. Imrathon placed his hand over his heart and swept it out in acknowledgement of his king, bowing as he did.

"_Namárië_, and may the Valar watch over you both," Thranduil blessed them. Legolas smiled at his father, waving as the gates groaned open.

"Do not worry, Ada, I will bring back so much game you'll have to make a new storeroom for it all!" he called back. Thranduil laughed, his voice light and melodious, raising his hand in farewell.

"Of that I am sure, my son," he murmured to himself with a smile. Legolas spun around to face Imrathon, digging his heels into his horse's sides.

"Come on, Imrathon! I will race you!" Legolas cried challengingly, and spurred Nimbaran into the fastest gallop the young one could manage. Imrathon cried out in protest and set off immediately after him, and together they disappeared into the forest, leaving Thranduil standing at his palace doors with a smile that would last a week and memories that would last an eternity.

_Mára mesta – "Goodbye" in Quenya_

**TBC

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A/N: Yes, very short, but you will get more very soon. Instead of posting in one week periods, I think I will opt for 3-4 days between postings. I have not finished this piece yet, but I do have 24 chapters I believe so it is well underway and I do indeed wish to finish it, so once we get closer to brand-new chapters that do not have much written after them I believe I might slow up on posting and switch to 1-week periods in between postings. But that will be quite a while. Well, thanks for reading and I'll see you all soon!

Until then, _namárië_.

-ArcherGal2932


	5. IV: A Little Patch of Heaven

**Mask of Innocence

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**

**Disclaimer:**** I own nothing of Tolkien's works and never will, and I make no profit off this writing.**

**Rating:**** T **

**Summary: The young Prince Legolas is captured and taken to Dol Guldar, and within days King Thranduil gives up all hope of finding his child. Little does he know that Sauron has terrible plans up his sleeve for conquering the ****Woodland**** Realm, and that those plans involve Legolas. **

A/N: And, as promised, another chapter. Enjoy!

-ArcherGal2932

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**Chapter Four: A Little Patch of Heaven**

"Whoa, whoa."

The horses came to a stop, their riders panting from the adrenaline of galloping through the mazes of the shadowy forest. The child seated upon a uniquely colored colt turned to the fair Elf next to him, a triumphant grin upon his face. The other refused to look at him.

"I beat you," Legolas panted, grinning from ear to ear.

"No, you did not. Tâlgalad let your colt win."

"No, he did not."

"Yes, he did."

"No."

"Yes."

"No."

"Yes."

"No."

"Fine. You won. There, are you happy, Legolas?"

Legolas giggled. "Yes, I am very happy Imrathon."

Imrathon rolled his eyes. "Good to hear," he said flatly, glancing around. "All right, Legolas, are you ready to go hunt some game?"

Legolas bounced excitedly on Nimbaran's back. The little horse snorted in protest. "YES!"

A flock of birds exploded from the tree next to Legolas, squawking as the child's shout startled them from their perches. Legolas ducked as they swooped low over his head.

Imrathon smiled once the birds had settled. "But before we start, remember that silence is your friend. Your target will not run if they cannot sense anything, and to run screaming through the bushes firing arrows like mad will not win you your goal. Understand?"

Legolas' head bobbed up and down, his lips pressed firmly together. He did not say anything. Imrathon laughed.

"Child, you do not have to be quiet the whole time, just when we have spotted game." Legolas relaxed and turned red with embarrassment. Imrathon spurred the horses into a trot, easing into a canter quickly.

"There is usually a fair amount of _aras+_ at a watering pool south of here. Does that sound all right to you?" Imrathon asked. Legolas said yes immediately. Imrathon suddenly shot ahead.

"I will race you!" He called from over his shoulder, and with a shout of protest the young Thranduillion took off after him, racing into the forest.

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It was at midday that they reached the watering pool. Easing themselves off the horses and creeping up to the clearing edge, the two Elves gazed into the little patch of heaven they had found, hidden away in the darkness of the forest.

"It is beautiful," Legolas breathed, his bright eyes taking in everything with awe, from the bubbling stream that trickled into the deep, crystal clear pool to the bright birds that twittered from their perches in the slender trees. The water was fed from an underground hot spring, so the pool was still warm and comfortable even in the dead of winter, but it was not so warm that one could not go swimming in it in the sizzling temperatures of summer. Leaves fluttered from the treetops, raining down in showers of crimson, yellow, orange, and an occasional dark brown that made the clearing floor look carpeted with their beautiful colors. Half a dozen deer were roaming the small clearing, some drinking and others fooling around with each other. Imrathon motioned for Legolas to move forward and prepare his bow.

"Find your target, little one," He murmured, his eyes fixed upon the clearing. Legolas' eyes narrowed and he caught sight of a young buck, the first signs of horns barely protruding from his forehead. The young one was lapping up water from the clear pool, a doe nearby doing the same, oblivious to the two who were watching him. Legolas raised his bow, fitting an arrow to the string with his small fingers and aiming for the small buck.

Imrathon's hand suddenly rested upon Legolas' extended arm, and the prince glanced at him curiously.

"Do not aim for the young one. We do not separate the children from their parents, for this one is still young. Elves kill only if it is needed, Legolas, and we have never been called upon to kill a child, even if it is a creature of the forest that is unlike us. Do you understand, my prince?"

Legolas nodded understandingly, and searched the edge of the water for another buck. His bright eyes scanned the foliage around the watering hole, and his eyes latched on that of an older buck, one in its prime. No others were near it, and he was not guarding a mate or offspring. Raising his bow yet again, Legolas took aim. Imrathon nodded his approval.

"Shoulders square and in line with your feet," Imrathon instructed him quietly, still watching the unsuspecting buck. Legolas adjusted himself accordingly, running through the basic steps he had learned from Imrathon in the past two weeks. He had not quite perfected his shot, but was getting there.

_Index finger above the arrow, middle and fourth fingers below it. _Legolas gripped the arrow correspondingly. _Raise your bow. Find your target._ His eyes were locked upon the buck.

"Keep your bow arm parallel to the ground," Imrathon told him. Legolas straightened his arm, checking his position yet again.

_Pull the string back, but only halfway to your face. Relax your grip on the bow._

Imrathon reached forward and gently guided Legolas' hand back. "Elbow back, and pull until your draw-hand reaches your chin." Legolas drew the string back, his eyes still fixed upon the buck.

"From the tip of your arrow to your elbow must be a straight line, or you will miss your target," Imrathon reminded him.

Legolas altered his position to comply with Imrathon's instructions. His back muscles tightened as he prepared to shoot.

"Fire."

_Fire._

The arrow sang from Legolas' bow. His hand fell back to touch his rear shoulder, just as he had been taught to do. The buck crumpled to the ground without a noise, the arrow protruding from its broad chest, and the other deer scattered in a flash. Imrathon turned to Legolas, smiling broadly.

"Well done, Legolas, well done!" He congratulated him proudly, patting him on the back. The prince grinned up at him.

"I did it! I actually did it!" Legolas exclaimed, excitedly hopping up and down.

"Now, how about you bring the horses into the clearing and set up camp, and we will go swimming after a bite to eat, all right?" Imrathon suggested, and Legolas' eyes sparkled.

"Yes, sir!" he saluted happily and bounded off, whistling for Nimbaran and Tâlgalad as he went. Imrathon smiled after the thrilled child, and then turned to the buck that Legolas had shot down. He studied it closely, and found that the buck had been killed instantly by Legolas' arrow, having pierced its heart. Imrathon's eyebrows shot up in surprise at this.

_Very rarely does a beginner shoot so well…this child will be a great archer. That I am sure of._

_+aras - deer_

**TBC

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****A/N: **_Hannon le _to** "Angie's Archery Website" **for the steps on shooting a bow an arrow. Yes, I do know how to use a bow, but I could not tell you if it was correct way or not. ; ) I would put the URL to the site up, but FFnet is apparently not letting me put in links. _Goheno nin._

Oh, and **LazloTitan36** - sorry, I tried to give you the link to a website, but it didn't show up! My sincerest apologies.

Also, deal with me as I begin to discover what types of characters will be displayed once posted. For example, asterisks do not appear, but / do and + do. I will be using '+' from now on for less-common Elven translations that the general public will not be familiar with. '/' will either indicate me making an action in author notes or thoughts in flashbacks, as my flashbacks will be in italics and regular thoughts are usually in italics. Make sense? Hope so. See you all in a few days!

Until then, _namárië._

**_-_ArcherGal2932**


	6. V: A Thirsty Captain

**Mask of Innocence**

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**Disclaimer: I own nothing of Tolkien's works and never will, and I make no profit off this writing.**

**Rating: T/PG-13**

**Summary: The young Prince Legolas is captured and taken to Dol Guldar, and within days King Thranduil gives up all hope of finding his child. Little does he know that Sauron has terrible plans up his sleeve for conquering the Woodland Realm, and that those plans involve Legolas.**

**A/N:** Yipee! Another chapter is up! Hope you all enjoy. _Hannon le _to **LazloTitan36 **for reviewing _In Mordor Where the Shadows Are_, and to **Yavie Aelinel** for reviewing _Soldiers & Heroes._

**Moonyasha: **See? I updated. Happy now? lol /wink wink/

**Legolass Q: **Glad to see you're checking in on me even though you've read my writing so many times! lol Yeah, I agree - these chapters really do help Imrathon & Legolas' relationship and showing how close and how different they are in many ways. Thanks again!

**Illeanah:** Yay! A new reviewer! lol Glad you think it's good so far - in my opinion it only gets better.

**LazloTitan36: **Yes, I was thinking of that song as I wrote this. I know, I know...a little too old for that kind of movie. But I will blame it on a certain younger sibling who dragged me along to the movies. ; ) _Mellon-nin, _I begin to fear for you already - if you think that these past chapters are cliffhangers, I do not want to know how you react to the later chapters. I find myself worrying for them myself - and I'm the one writing it! lol Thanks again for reviewing one of the other stories I wrote.

**All righty, enough chit-chat and on with the story!**

**-ArcherGal2932

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****Chapter Five:A Thirsty Captain**

The sound of Legolas whistling a merry tune broke Imrathon out of his thoughts contemplating Legolas' future, and he scooped up the fallen buck and carried it to the spot along the side of the watering hole that Legolas had deemed well enough for them. Nimbaran and Tâlgalad had already been brought into their little campsite, and a small fire was just beginning to smoke as Legolas hurriedly unpacked their provisions.

As soon as he had found the food Legolas seized the dried venison and attacked a piece, wolfing down it and then another. Imrathon watched in amusement as the child then proceeded to devour a chunk of cheese and a slice of warm bread. He unscrewed the lid to the water skin and chugged down the whole skin of water. Satisfied for the moment, Legolas stood up and tore a hunk of bread off and stuffed it into his mouth, moving to the water's edge. There he began to unfasten his tunic and pull off his boots.

"Were you hungry, child, or did you instead wish to go swimming as soon as possible?" Imrathon asked with raised eyebrows, only now reaching for a scrap of jerky. Legolas turned his head, still chewing on the piece of bread and tearing off all his clothing save for his leggings at the same time.

"The secog hon…nah…bogh…" the prince managed out, his mouth full.

Imrathon chuckled. "Ah. I understand completely." He focused his attention upon the food in front of him, chewing thoughtfully as he contemplated what they were going to do for the next several days besides hunting. Realizing that he was parched, Imrathon grabbed the nearest water skin and raised it to his lips. Nothing came out. Complaining loudly on how little Elven children enjoy taking more than their share, Imrathon knelt down on the water bank as Legolas waded in beside him. The captain dunked the water skin under the water, knowing that this water was clean enough for him to drink, and began to fill it, now beginning to ponder upon the idea of a prank upon Legolas.

Without warning Imrathon was startled out of his thoughts with a loud splash, and he found himself dripping wet. Spluttering in surprise, the captain dropped his water skin and glared at Legolas, who was now treading water happily in the pool, grinning like a maniac.

"You looked thirsty," the child announced innocently. Imrathon groaned. He got up slowly, an annoyed look upon his face and started to head towards the campfire, but abruptly he spun around and leaped into the water. Legolas squealed in surprise and delight, watching as his friend shot through the water straight for him. He shrieked when Imrathon's strong hands seized his ankles and jerked him under the water. But almost immediately the grip on his feet disappeared, and Legolas reappeared on the surface, coughing and grinning at the same time. Imrathon quickly burst through the surface also, laughing at his trick. He flung the hair from his eyes with a sharp jerk of his head, and droplets of water rained down upon Legolas' face as he did so.

"Hey!" Legolas cried in protest, and immediately splashed the Elf in the face. Imrathon splashed back.

"Hay is for horses, Legolas," He shouted over the splashing. Legolas launched himself at the captain with a battle cry, and the two sank beneath the surface, wrestling playfully. A little while later Imrathon's head broke the water surface, out of breath and laughing. But Legolas was not there.

"Legolas?" Imrathon glanced around him, puzzled. He looked down into the water, and felt his stomach lurch. Legolas was drifting beneath the surface, unmoving.

"No!"

With a cry the captain dove expertly to the depths of the warm pool. Legolas did not stir when he gathered him into his arms and shot for the surface. In the few moments it took for Imrathon to reach air, he had already begun to panic.

_Sweet Elbereth, we are only three leagues away from home and already tragedy has befallen us. Please, let the child live…_

He swam easily with the prince's weight, and was on the bank in only seconds. He laid Legolas out upon the ground, his heart pounding.

"No, Valar, do not let it be true…" he gasped, gazing at the child in horror. Legolas was not moving, and his eyes were closed. He did not seem to be breathing. Imrathon broke down, bowing his head in sorrow and despair. "No…"

"I TRICKED YOU!" Legolas suddenly yelled at the top of his lungs, his eyes flashing open and a wide grin spreading across his face. Imrathon fell back in surprise, breathing hard. He closed his eyes, still shocked out of his mind.

"Valar, Legolas, never do that _again!_" He exclaimed breathlessly, but a smile twitched at the corners of his mouth. He suddenly leapt upon the child, and anyone who had seen them only would have seen two friends, sopping wet and breathless, tickling each other and laughing like there was no tomorrow.

**TBC**

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**A/N: Ha! Scared you, huh? Well, if I disappointed those of you who wanted to see our cute little princeling get hurt, I promise, the Orcs come soon, very soon. They are getting very impatient over here and are beginning to attack. I think they are hungry for some fighting and Elf-blood.Well, I promised one of them an appearance in the next chapter, so I hope that will postpone my execution date for a little while. ; )**

**Until then,** **_n__amárië._**

**_-_ArcherGal2932**


	7. VI: The Target

**Mask of Innocence****

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**Disclaimer: I own nothing of Tolkien's works and never will, and I make no profit off this writing.**

**Rating: T/PG-13 **

**Summary: The young Prince Legolas is captured and taken to Dol Guldar, and within days King Thranduil gives up all hope of finding his child. Little does he know that Sauron has terrible plans up his sleeve for conquering the ****Woodland Realm, and that those plans involve Legolas.**

**A/N:** **_Mae govannen! _Thanks for all your support - my hit counts have officially gone beyond 1000! YAY! And, as a plus, I am getting at least three reviews per chapter. Well, it's better than nothing.**

**LazloTitan36: **Glad to see you weren't too scared. I was starting to get worried that some of my cliffhangers and torture moments would get too...well, disturbing at times. Overall my story should keep a strong PG-13 rating, although I will try to give everyone a heads-up if a chapter gets bad. That shouldn't show up for a while though. Actually, I take that back. After this, one more chapter and we hit some serious cliffhangers and all that jazz. mwahahaha Oh, and yes, 'hannon le' means 'thank you.'

**Moonyasha: **LOL! Keeping track of my execution date, huh?(grins brightly) Glad you thought that was a good chapter. And if you are one for battles/angst, these chapters will only get better. ; )

**_Hannon le_ to the two of you who reviewed! And for those of you who don't, and I know you are out there, please, please, please, please, _please_, REVIEW! lol Or, do some of my readers understand only the Elven language? _Saes, mellyn, saes, saes, SAES - lîn_ _nauth_ _im iest an!_ (grins) (shakes fist at readers in determination) I'll get you to review somehow!**

**All right, if you are wondering why I updated so soon, I was feeling bored. That's going to happen a lot this summer. Aha, but only 25 days left. (breaks into tears) Summer goes by too fast!**

**-ArcherGal2932

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****Chapter Six: The Target**

That evening, Legolas and Imrathon lay curled up by the fire, watching the flames dance in the moonlight. The prince's hair shimmered brightly in the glow of the firelight as Imrathon worked out the tangles in the golden locks.

"Imrathon?"

"Hmm?"

"Can we stay up all night?"

Imrathon smiled and gently removed the silver circlet from the child's hair. He continued to brush through the tresses with care. "Now why would you want to do that?"

The child in his lap sat up and grinned at his friend. "Because I want to. And besides," Legolas glanced around him, as if making sure no one was listening, and dropped his voice to a whisper and leaned in close. "Ada isn't here to tell me not to."

Imrathon sat back, nodding understandingly. "Ah, that is a very good reason, now isn't it?"

Legolas nodded proudly. Imrathon suddenly looked at the child with his eyes slightly narrowed, his eyes glimmering.

"But who said you do not live by your father's rules even out here? I understand that at home you were not allowed to stay up later than dusk, _tithen-pen._"

Legolas glared at him, but a bright idea suddenly came to mind, and he sat up, trying to puff his chest out so he looked more like his father. Imrathon watched him in amusement, stifling a snicker.

"As prince of the Woodland Realm, I order you to let me stay up all night, Captain," Legolas ordered with a smug smile, imitating his father as best as he could. Imrathon burst out laughing, but quickly quieted when Legolas shot him a dirty look.

"Oh…yes, your highness…your wish is my command," Imrathon bowed good-naturedly, but sat up grinning. Legolas stuck his chin up proudly.

"Good," He approved, his normally light voice now struggling to be deep and strong.

"But your highness, will you not get tired during the night? Surely after an afternoon warring against the dreadful General of Tickling you would be weary," Imrathon hinted, a sly smile beginning to slip over his face. He would win this battle yet.

Legolas dropped his act but crossed his arms boldly, as if daring Imrathon to challenge him again. "I am not tired," He scowled defiantly.

"Ah. I understand."

Imrathon just looked at him, a trace of a grin beginning to appear on his face. Legolas just sat there, studying intricate patterns of dirt on the ground. Several minutes passed. Without warning, the child started to yawn, and Legolas immediately clamped a hand firmly over his mouth in surprise. Imrathon burst out laughing. Legolas refused to smile, but Imrathon tackled him and started to tickle him furiously. Legolas squealed in protest, but Imrathon did not relent.

"Imrathon! No…stop…_daro_…_Saes_, _mellon-nín_…STOP!"

At last the Elven captain sat back and smiled cheerfully at the child who lay curled up and unable to stop giggling and breathe normally. Imrathon scooped up Legolas into his arms and tucked him in his bedroll, unfastening his cloak and spreading it over the little Elf to keep him warm. Being only a child, Legolas had yet to gain a Firstborn's extreme endurance and a tolerance of the elements, especially cold. Legolas snuggled farther underneath his blankets, exhausted.

"Sleep, little one. You are tired, and you are safe here with me, I promise," Imrathon murmured.

"Imrathon, are you sure there aren't any monsters in the forest?" Legolas asked fearfully, his eyes wide as he gripped the edge of the blanket. Imrathon smiled gently.

"Yes, I am sure, child. I scouted the area not three days ago – there is no safer place to be than here. I would let no enemy ever touch you. Not while I still breathed, my prince," Imrathon assured him quietly. "Now, go to sleep."

Legolas nodded, satisfied with the answer, and closed his eyes. Imrathon watched him for a little while, sitting by the dying fire, and once he was sure that Legolas was all right he settled down into his own bedroll, and slipped into the realm of Elven dreams.

XXXXXXXXXXXX

The scout watched the two Elves silently as they settled down for the night. He smirked. Everything was going perfectly, and with no one on guard it was growing so much easier. The scout could not understand the language the older Elf spoke when he said something to the little one, but he did not care. He believed that he had found the selected target. The scout searched through his memory and struggled to remember the description of his goal.

"Gold hair."

_There, that was one thing._ The scout looked over. Only one had gold hair – the child. The other had dark hair.

"Blue eyes."

_Cannot tell; too far away. _

"Pale skin."

_They both have light skin! _

"Elfling."

_The little one. _

"Crown."

_The little one yet again._

"Name is Prince Legolas."

_Do not know, but it does not matter._

The scout smiled grimly to himself. Almost everything matched perfectly. Getting uncomfortable after having been hunched in the same position for the past two hours, he stood up, wincing as his body protested the movement. Without warning his head smacked into a low tree branch, the dry leaves rustling loudly. In the camp the little Elf was up in a flash and whirled around, his eyes wide with terror and clutching at his blanket fearfully. The scout immediately ducked out of view, swearing under his breath. The little one was more alert than he thought. The child soon lay back down, but the scout knew he could make no more mistakes. Any hint of his presence would bring the whole plan crashing to the earth, and the Dark One would torture him so much he would wish he had never been spawned. The scout shuddered at the thought, and very, very cautiously backed away from the Elves' campsite.

If Legolas had continued to study the spot where he had heard leaves rustle, he would have seen an Orc spy illuminated in the moonlight for a brief second as it slipped into the darkness.

**TBC**

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**A/N: mwhahahaha. See? I told you I'd have Mr. Orc show up! Oh, and I'm not going to die after all! I promised the Orc party some fun later...oh...oh, no...that's bad, isn't it?... (s****creams and scoops a little Legolas figurine and an Imrathon figurine in arms, hugging them tightly) ****no no no no no NO! Not Im and Leggy! (****wails) W****hat have I done? ****(whimpers softly, drying tears from face) ****I'll just have to make sure that the Orc party doesn't kill them off...they must swear on the precious...yes...yes, swear, that they will never, ever harm master... (****wink wink) ****Ah, if only Orcs listened and abided by promises. They stopped listening to me long ago. (grins)**

**Until later, _namárië._**

**-ArcherGal2932**


	8. VII: 'They are here'

**Mask of Innocence**

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_Hannon le _to Legolass Q/Legolass for editing, revising, giving tips, and showing general support in my writing. This wouldn't be here without you. (applauds and cheers)**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing of Tolkien's works and never will, and I make no profit off this writing. **

**Rating: T/PG-13**

**Summary: The young Prince Legolas is captured and taken to Dol Guldar, and within days King Thranduil gives up all hope of finding his child. Little does he know that Sauron has terrible plans up his sleeve for conquering the Woodland Realm, and that those plans involve Legolas. **

**A/N: Reviews! Yes! _Hannon le!_**

**Moonyasha:** Glad you thought that was a 'greateth' chapter. lol I really enjoyed writing these past chapters, since they were so light and fun, and generally very happy. I'm afraid I can't say the same about the next twenty chapters. (winces) But I did like writing them. For some reason I enjoy hurting my characters...not a good thing for Leggy and Im. I'll try to keep all the characters that belong to Tolkien alive, but for the ones I created...let's just say not everybody's going to have a happy ending, k? (cackles evilly) (cough, choke) Ahem. What? No, I didn't say that. You're just imagining things. ;)

**Legolass Q: **Sry, I didn't get your review until after I posted 7! My apologies! I like Legolas' full-mouth speech too. I really had a good time writing those chapters, since they were light and fun.Too bad it won'tbe like that in the next twenty chapters, like I told Moonyasha. ;)

**RuByMoOn17: **Don't worry about not reviewing the other chapters, just glad to know you'restill reading it.Hopeyou stick around for the rest of it!

**LazloTitan36: **No, Legolas' eyes were not closed - Elves do not sleep like the Edain(Men) do. Instead, they sleep with their eyes open. Plus, Legolas was asleep - he heard the noise and woke up. Think of him as a five or six-year-old, and you'll understand him a little better. Usually, children are scared of the dark or strange noises - you saw that when Legolas asked Imrathon if there were monsters in the forest and Imrathon assured him there were not. So he just woke up when he heard the Orc spy making a noise, thinking him a monster and clutching his blanket, but when nothing else made a noise he lay back down to sleep. He couldn't see the Orc at all, but he definitely heard it. Sry if I confused you any, I hope that helped clear up any that remains.

**All right, things are going to get darker from here on. Just a warning, nothing too bad here, but next chapter we'll hit some...well, I'll let you read and find out. ;)**

**On my posting schedule: I had one reviewer ask about when I would post next - expect postings every 2 to 5 days until about August 18th - that's when I go back to junior high. Yes, very fun. If I make the volleyball team, my postings will lengthen to about every week or so, but if I don't it might stay closer to every five days or something. We'll just have to see what happens, though.**

**-ArcherGal2932 **

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**Chapter Seven: "They are here…"**

Imrathon's eyes flashed open. His gaze immediately flew to Legolas. The child was trembling, but still asleep, clutching the blanket around him tightly – he was apparently cold. The fire was dying down; glowing embers were all that remained. The Elven captain glanced about the clearing anxiously, searching for whatever woke him. Then he realized what was out of place once he studied Legolas. The child was not asleep, although he was doing a very good job of pretending. Now that he looked more closely, it was not out of cold that Legolas was wrapped tightly in the bedroll but out of _fear._ Imrathon crawled over and gently scooped the child up into his arms. Legolas jumped and whimpered when he felt something grab hold of him, his eyes snapping open and his body tensing. Imrathon hushed him soothingly, and the prince relaxed when he saw Imrathon.

"What is wrong, child?" Imrathon asked concernedly in a quiet voice. Legolas' eyes darted back and forth, and he began to tremble yet again as he gripped the captain's cloak in anxiety.

"I heard something," Legolas whispered in terror, shrinking closer to Imrathon. The captain's head snapped up immediately, his senses on alert as he gazed about the clearing and listened carefully. But darkness enshrouded their campsite, making it nearly impossible, even for an Elf, to see anything. And yet a red flag shot up in Imrathon's mind. Legolas began to whimper again; apparently his instincts were screaming also. Imrathon hushed him urgently, trying to listen to the forest. But there was nothing to listen to. The wood had gone silent. All night birds and creatures were still in anticipation and terror. The leaves rustled in protest of a sudden foul breeze that blew through, whipping Imrathon's silk hair into his face, and he listened wide-eyed as the forest called out a warning in the form of squawks of the birds and groaning of the trees.

_They are here…_

Before Legolas knew what was happening Imrathon had darted to a wide birch tree and leapt into the branches easily with the prince in his arms. The captain settled Legolas onto a branch many feet off the ground, firmly pressing a hand against the child's mouth.

"Do not move or speak," He hissed, and disappeared. Legolas shrank against the tree in fear when he realized that Imrathon had left him. He was trembling all over, hugging himself in terror. It seemed like hours before Imrathon was back. The captain had killed the fire, scattered their belongings and released the horses, making it to look like the camp had been deserted.

"You will stay here until all attention is on me, understand?" Imrathon ordered, looking Legolas straight in the eyes. Although confused, Legolas nodded timidly. Before Imrathon could say more there was a pounding of iron-shod feet and shrieks, and he lurched forward, pulling Legolas close to him and placing a hand over his mouth to keep him silent. Torches flared in the clearing, casting a pale red light upon clusters of whatever now stood in the campsite. Legolas would have gasped if Imrathon's hand was not before his lips. Nearly forty Orcs were in the clearing, their eyes glittering with malevolence from the shadows. The child whimpered beneath Imrathon's grip. The captain immediately tensed, praying to the Valar to grant them secrecy and silence.

An Orc suddenly snarled something in its cursed tongue to another. He was furious.

"There aren't no Elves here!" He growled, spinning on the scout he had sent. The scout stammered for a response.

"Rorzaug, they were just here, I swear! Two of them, a tall one and a little one!"

"Like I'd believe that lie any day, you scumbag," Rorzaug growled, seizing the unlucky scout with his grubby hands. In the tree, Imrathon swore severely under his breath. _They have seen us. There was an Orc spy watching us, and I never realized it!_

"No, Rorzaug…the little one…it's the one we've been lookin' for!" The scout squealed, writhing in his commander's grasp. Rorzaug dropped him like a sack full of grain. An evil glint suddenly came into his yellow eyes.

"Well, then. We better find 'em, eh?" He hissed, and his voice was low and malicious. Imrathon stiffened, realizing it was his turn to act before the Orcs became split up. He grabbed a fistful of debris left over from a bird's nest and flung it far to the right. Rorzaug's twisted ears picked up the faint sound of something land in the underbrush. He shouted orders immediately, dispatching his men to search towards the west. The Orcs shrieked and took off, their weapons flickering in the red torchlight, making them look like they were dripping with bright blood. Legolas shivered and huddled closer to Imrathon, but the captain refused to embrace the child, instead dropping soundlessly onto the branch below him. He looked up, and tears were in his eyes.

"Remember what I told you, little one?" he whispered. Legolas nodded faintly. "Do not run until they have gone. But take Nimbaran and ride like you never have before, Legolas. And do not look back. Pretend that you are racing me again, like when we left home. Do not let me beat you. Ride along the stream until you reach another glade like this one, except there will be no water there. It is about a league north of here. Do you remember riding through it as we raced?"

Legolas nodded again, remembering the glade and the beautiful grasses and flowers that grew there. Suddenly Imrathon swallowed, glancing down at the sea of Orcs that swarmed below him. "Until we meet again, my prince," He said with a sad smile, dropped from the branches of the silver birch, and was lost in the darkness below.

Legolas peered downward, watching as his guardian sprinted easily towards the southwest, in easy view of the Orcs. From the enemy there was a sudden shout, and Legolas recognized Rorzaug's yell among the orders issued as the swell of _yrch_ turned towards the Elf that ran through the forest. Legolas glimpsed a flash as Imrathon sped through the forest, running swifter than a deer as he took the Orcs on a chase that would hopefully keep them from spotting the young Thranduillion. The Orcs were so intent on catching their prey that they did not notice that a child sat high up in the branches of the birch they ran by, and Imrathon could only pray that the prince's luck would hold out.

High above the Orcs that now only trickled past Legolas waited until the last of them had disappeared before climbing down. He had to get to the glade. He wanted to go home. He wanted his father to hold him tightly and tell him everything was all right. And everything _would_ be all right. Legolas shimmied down the tree easily, clutching the blanket tightly as he dropped to the forest floor. It was silent where he was, but his ears faintly picked up the sounds of Orcs not one-hundred yards away. There was a sudden scream, and Legolas backed away in fear. _Someone must have gotten hurt, or they caught something else. But Imrathon would have been far away by now. The Orcs could never catch him. He's too fast._

Letting out a sharp whistle, Legolas waited for Nimbaran to come to him. Within seconds the young horse appeared, jittery and terrified from the presence of the _yrch_. Legolas quickly soothed the colt and leapt upon his back, spurring the horse into a full-fledged gallop.

_I am racing Im. He's right behind me. I have to go faster, or he'll beat me to the glade. It's just a race. There are no Orcs behind me. There are no Orcs behind me…_

In about a quarter of an hour he finally burst through the trees and into the dark glade. Crickets chattered quietly in the tall grass that rustled in the gentle breeze. But Imrathon was not there. Legolas spun Nimbaran around, searching franticly for his friend. He was still not there. The child dismounted and let Nimbaran graze the lush grass. He stayed there for an hour. Imrathon did not come. He began to get cold, and shivering he realized with a sudden terror that Imrathon was not coming.

Breathing hard, Legolas ran as hard as his small legs could carry him. He had to find Imrathon. He was here somewhere. _Maybe he has just gotten lost…_

Suddenly breaking into the little patch of heaven that Imrathon and Legolas had camped in, the prince skidded to an abrupt halt and let out a scream. He had found Imrathon, but he had also found the Orcs.

XXXXXXXXXXXX

_One hour earlier_

Imrathon dared a look back. The Orcs were falling behind. He smiled in spite of the dangerous situation he was in. The nimble Elf flew through the green foliage, using every bit of speed and quick-thinking from his Elven blood to aide him in his task. _We did it. We outsmarted the yrch. Legolas got to the glade, and I can get him home. Sweet Elbereth, I promised Thranduil nothing would happen, but at least we are alive and unscathed…_

Slowing up, Imrathon triumphantly grinned and leaned against a tree, a little out of breath. The Orcs were gone. They had given up already. He closed his eyes and smiled to himself. _We did it._

"And this is why I always create a perimeter around my prize, boys. So they cannot get away."

Imrathon's smile disappeared. His eyes snapped open. A thicket of Orc spears pinned him in, and Imrathon suddenly turned an ashen tone. _A perimeter…Legolas would have been captured. Holy Valar…_

The captain was so wrapped in his thoughts that he barely heard Rorzaug's next commands:

"Bring him down, but do not kill him. We need him to find the little one."

**TBC**

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A/N: Mwahahahahaha. Yes, yes, nasty cliffhanger. You might want to start expecting those, because there will be one almost every chapter I think. hehehe They will taper off a bit after a while, but for these next three or four...lol. Thanks for reading, and I'll look for reviews.**

Until then, _namárië._

_-_ArcherGal2932


	9. VIII: Loved, Captured, & Killed

**Mask of Innocence**

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_Hannon le _to Legolass Q/Legolass for editing, revising, giving tips, and showing general support in my writing. This wouldn't be here without you. (applauds and cheers) **

**Disclaimer: I own nothing of Tolkien's works and never will, and I make no profit off this writing. **

**Rating: T/PG-13**

**Summary: The young Prince Legolas is captured and taken to Dol Guldar, and within days King Thranduil gives up all hope of finding his child. Little does he know that Sauron has terrible plans up his sleeve for conquering the Woodland Realm, and that those plans involve Legolas. **

**A/N: Four reviews! YES!**

**barlog: **Here's another posting, hope you like.

**Moonyasha: **I'm sure little Legolas would love a plushie toy right about now...he's not having too much fun on his hunting trip, is he? lol

**LazloTitan36: **Well, that's the whole point of cliffhangers! They make you want to read more! lol This chapter probably hasone of the worst cliffhangers yet. I can think of several more chappies ahead with scary cliffhangers also...mwhahaha

**silverkonekotsukari: **YAY! Another new reviewer! lol Always glad to see there are more people out there reading this. Glad you like Legolas' portrayal/description, I really enjoy writing about him. He's so innocent and young, and it's so darn cute! lol

**WARNING: This chapter includes some graphic content, i.e. torture, angst. Read with caution, although I assure you it is not severe enough that my 11-year-old sibling cannot read it. ;) In fact, she'sactually reading and reviewing this story - thanks, sis!**

**-ArcherGal2932 **

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****Chapter Eight: Loved, Captured, & Killed**

Imrathon whimpered in agony as he was dragged towards their campsite. Never before had he been in so much pain. And it was no consolation to know that all that lay ahead for him was more pain before death took him.

Someone shouted orders to tie him up, and abruptly Imrathon felt himself yanked from the ground and held upright. He struggled to raise his head as the world swam dangerously, but he did realize that Legolas was not in the camp. Imrathon squeezed his eyes shut and stifled tears of relief. Legolas was still free. He could still make it home.

The captain felt a sharp tug on both of his arms as he was tied between two trees. The earth tilted before his eyes and he groaned in pain as his wounds were aggravated. They had beaten him practically to a bloody pulp, and Imrathon thought he probably looked as bad as he felt.

"So, Elf, where's your friend?" Rorzaug demanded. Despite the pain he was in Imrathon gave him a casual look, as if saying, 'What, were you talking to me? Oh, I am sorry, I did not hear you.'

Rorzaug slapped him. "Answer me!" He snarled. Imrathon just looked at him, a smile hinting at his lips.

"Where you cannot get him," He said in quiet defiance, his eyes glinting with pride. He did not care what happened to himself. Legolas was safe, and nothing mattered other than that. Rorzaug punched him and bent down to grab his knife that lay on the ground. Without warning Imrathon threw his weight forward, his head coming down to smash Rorzaug's own. The Orc did a face-plant into the ground. Rorzaug staggered to his feet with a growl. He set upon the Elf in a furious rage and began to beat him viciously, and when at last Rorzaug spun away he was fuming. Imrathon watched black blood trickle from Rorzaug's face with satisfaction, even as he gasped for air in his hunched position, the ropes the only thing that kept him from collapsing to the ground.

"You deserve every moment of pain, beast, for wishing to hurt a child," Imrathon managed out boldly. It was a rash move against an already angered Orc, but Imrathon did not care. Rorzaug whirled on him with a roar. He smashed his fist into the captain's stomach and turned to his lieutenant, Bagronk. He seized a cruel-looking whip from the lieutenant's hands. Curling the prongs around his mutilated fingers, the Orc proudly showed off his toy to Imrathon.

"It's so fun to hear them scream. I am sure you'll tell us where your little friend is after we have a go on you."

Imrathon cried out softly when Rorzaug dragged the whip around his neck, feeling tiny shards of metal in the whip digging into his flesh. The Orc's eyes glittered in anticipation of spilling the Elf's blood. Imrathon swallowed.

Imrathon's tunic and undershirt were torn from his body and discarded. The leader stepped back behind Imrathon. "Nothing will make me tell you, you foul spawn of Morgoth," Imrathon declared, but his voice trembled out of weariness. Rorzaug let out a cackle.

"Spawned by Morgoth himself? Now, _that _would be something to be proud of."

The Orc pack suddenly exploded in shrieks of excitement as Rorzaug prepared to began the beating. Imrathon closed his eyes, lifting his head to the sky as he braced himself for the strike.

The crack of the whip was all Imrathon heard at first. His body lurched from impact, and then he felt the stinging pain. Before he had a chance to react he was struck again. _Do not cry out. Do not cry out. Whatever you do, do not cry out…_The whip contacted his back over and over, shredding his flesh slowly. Every time the whip was dragged across his back after the blow, letting the metal barbs dig in deeply to the captain's skin. The wounds he had received from the Orcs were lashed just as hard, if not harder, and brought the pain back too quickly for the Elf.

Imrathon steeled himself for the pain, swearing not to give his captors the joy of his cries, but as the beating increased so did the amount of pain. The captain was crying out by the time fifty lashes had been delivered. Soon the screams were endless.

_They are killing me. _

_This is what it is like to die._

_This is how I will die, beaten to death to save a child._

_And my body will be left here, to die alone in the wilderness._

_Loved by the king's son as a brother._

_Captured so the prince could live._

_Killed so the enemy would not get its prize._

Imrathon barely heard himself suck in air as he began to sob out of desperation, begging to be released. He twisted away from the blows, trying to evade their stinging bite. But the whip found him every time. He cursed himself for being so weak, for not taking the whipping like the noble captain he was. But no matter what he did every graze of the metal-barbed whip dragged Imrathon farther into unconsciousness. He was being sucked under, the world slowly turning black as the melody of his soul faded.

A sudden scream brought Imrathon sharply back.

His eyes snapped open.

"Legolas…"

**TBC**

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**A/N: Yep, another cliffhanger. Stay tuned for the next chapter entitled "Screams." mwhahaha**

**Until then, _n__amárië._**

**_-_ArcherGal2932**


	10. IX: Screams

**Mask of Innocence**

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_Hannon le _to Legolass Q/Legolass for editing, revising, giving tips, and showing general support in my writing. This wouldn't be here without you. (applauds and cheers) **

**Disclaimer: I own nothing of Tolkien's works and never will, and I make no profit off this writing. **

**Rating: T/PG-13**

**Summary: The young Prince Legolas is captured and taken to Dol Guldar, and within days King Thranduil gives up all hope of finding his child. Little does he know that Sauron has terrible plans up his sleeve for conquering the Woodland Realm, and that those plans involve Legolas. **

**A/N: (stumbles in the room, sobbing quietly) Only TWO REVIEWS! TWO after that angsty chapter I wrote. And only one threat. (laughs weakly, very unhappy) I was expecting at least four. You guys got me four reviews for chapter 7, but only 2 for 8. And one of them didn't really count because I promised my sister I'd do something if she reviewed me story! (wails)**

**Okay, it has been rumored that responding to reader reviews is now illegal in FFnet's rulebook (although I have found nothing on their guidelines that suggests such, except for "**The chapter system is not to be used as placeholder for non-story content such as author notes. You can add short author notes to the beginning or at the end of stories but never as individual chapters.**" but even then, it does not specifically state that I cannot respond to your reviews in my author notes. However, it is also rumored that authors have been kicked off the site for responding to reviews in their chapter. Not good. So, from this point forward, I will no longer be posting responses to your reviews. :( However, I will send a response back if I find a valid email address (if you have an account and your email is in the 'display' mode, I can email you from there, or if you do not, you can put your email in the space labeled 'email address' on the review page). If you do not wish for me to respond to your review that way, simply let me know and I will comply immediately with your request. **

**If anyone has any additional information on this issue, please let me know immediately. But, I would like to say one thing before I cease to respond to reviews: Moonyasha - burning me at the stake? Oh dear. I am sure that I would not enjoy that at all. ;) But remember, if you kill me off, who's going to keep writing/posting this piece? mwahaha. All right, all right, I'll be quiet now. (glares at FFnet adminstration) But thank you to all you reviewers, and even if I can't respond to them by posting that doesn't mean I won't read your review. _Hannon le._**

**_-_ArcherGal2932**

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**Chapter Nine: Screams**

Within a split second of Legolas' scream for Imrathon the Orcs were upon the child, yanking him from the bushes. Imrathon could not move. His head lolled limply to one side as he gasped in air, trembling. His back seemed as if it was on fire, and every wound seemed to be white hot. An involuntary moan slipped past his barriers, and he convulsed as pain washed over him like the waves of the sea. He hardly heard Legolas crying out for him as they dragged him into the clearing. Everything was going black.

"This is him…it's him! It's the one we've been looking for!" someone shouted, but Imrathon could not react. The strong warrior was hardly conscious. Imrathon shuddered as coughs ripped through his chest, bringing a low moan to his lips.

Legolas screamed again, using his friend's nickname. "IM!"

The captain faintly heard his name called. Weakly, Imrathon turned towards the prince's cry and suddenly retched, but nothing came up. He groaned as pain sparked in his chest. Things began to slur together. He vaguely heard the Orcs suddenly growl and scuffle, and something launched itself at his body, small arms clutching his waist. Whatever it was that hugged him tightly pleaded with words that Imrathon was for some reason not able to make out. Imrathon looked down hazily, seeing gold hair shimmering against his beaten and bleeding chest. _Legolas._ Suddenly the warm embrace disappeared, and screams again filled Imrathon's ears. He whimpered as his head began to throb, protesting the loud noise. The sudden rumble of many feet running and the call of orders only made it worse. The screams only got more desperate, and he could only make out two words that Legolas was crying:

"_ADA_! IMRATHON!"

Vaguely realizing what had happened Imrathon moaned aloud, his faint cry of pain the only thing that he could utter. _Legolas. Oh, Valar, they caught him. I have to do something…_

Legolas' voice was strained and frantic as he yelled something over and over, and Imrathon struggled to respond but his body had all but given up.

"No…" he moaned, and his head slumped to his chest. Darkness clouded his mind. Someone was sobbing. Was it himself? He could not tell. He tried to think, but it hurt his head.

He could hear every Orc as they passed through the clump of foliage lying at the clearing edge.

_Oh Valar, no, please! I beg you, let him go! He is but a child!_

The pain amounted to nothing now. Imrathon would rather die before the innocent Elven child was dragged off by Orcs, even if he was of no blood relation to the prince.

The last Orcs were almost through the brush at the edge of the clearing.

_Legolas…_

_No…_

The clearing was suddenly deathly silent. The captain could hear the soft patter of raindrops on the glistening needles of the fir trees. He was the only one left now, and his breath came in soft wrenching gasps as the pain flooded back. Tears cascaded down his face.

_Sweet Elbereth, let it not be true…_

_No, please…_

_There will be so much pain…so much torture…he will never survive…_

When Imrathon closed his eyes, as the darkness engulfed him, he saw a vision of Legolas as he had last seen him; tears streaming down his pale face, eyes dead, screaming for help and a streak of blood upon his face as he was dragged away to the depths of the forest.

_Spare him of all of it. Keep him from suffering. Saes, I plead for this on the brink of death. Grant me one wish before I am lost forever. Please, for I know that Prince of the Woodland Realm will never feel the warmth of his father's embrace again. Give him this one gift, even if it is the gift of death._

A final wave of pain swept over Imrathon, worse than any other he had felt before, but this one instead left him wandering in a void of darkness.

**TBC**

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	11. X: Failed

**Mask of Innocence

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For disclaimer, rating and summary, see any previous chapter.**

A/N: Yeah, a little early, but I thought I'd give you all a chappie just because. So...yeah. Read away!

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**Chapter Ten: Failed**

_No…Valar, it cannot be…_

The king burst into the healing chambers. His eyes were alight with fury and terror, the power that gleamed from them strong and resilient. An Elf gifted with healing powers looked up from attending to a wounded one, and bowed low respectfully before this radiant being. The golden-haired being's demeanor and bearing demanded every ounce of respect and attention. Anyone who defied him would suffer and pay. The one's whole body seemed to be glowing with pride and strength, the very aura about him betraying wisdom that rivaled even that of Lord Elrond, for he had been witness to thousands of years even before the days in which an alliance between the Edain and the Elves existed.

When his sharp emerald eyes caught sight of the wounded one, he immediately strode forward, his strides purposeful and determined as always, but the healer stepped in front and stopped him, still bowing low.

"He's lost a great amount of blood, my lord," The healer, Daernesta, explained quietly. "He has a high fever, and there are Orc poisons in his wounds. He is dying even as we speak. He has lost the will to live. Take care not to disturb him greatly; any anxiety you cause him will only make his condition worse."

"But where is Legolas?" Thranduil demanded, and his eyes filled with concern and terror. "Was the prince with him when he was found?"

The healer bowed his head and shook it sadly.

Thranduil closed his eyes and whispered a prayer under his breath. When he opened them, sadness glimmered in their green depths. He turned his gaze to the dying Elf that lay not five feet away.

"May I see him?"

Daernesta nodded, and exited the room. The Woodland King quietly knelt next to the bed. The Elf's dark, silky hair shimmered on the soft pillow his head rested upon, his face ashen. He was as pale as death, and bloodied bandages covered his skin. The precious red liquid oozed from almost every spot imaginable on his body.

"Imrathon?"

The captain's eyes fluttered open slowly. A faint but sad smile blessed the features of the pained Elf when he saw Thranduil kneeling next to him. The king held one the cold hands, offering the elf some small comfort. The question he longed to ask threatened to burst forth, but the sight of the helpless elf made him try to use his gentle voice first. Before he could say anything, however, Imrathon spoke:

"Your son was a wonderful child, Thranduil. So kind - he only thought of others."

Thranduil smiled with no small amount of pride, but it faded suddenly. "_Was_? Imrathon…what do you mean?" Cold dread seeped into the king's heart. _Valar, do not mean that Legolas is…Sweet Elbereth, no. No. No, no, no…_

Tears welled in Imrathon's eyes. "I have failed you, my lord," he whispered. Thranduil felt his heart break.

"Nay…Imrathon…"

The Elven captain shook his head quickly. "Yes, I did, and you know it, my friend," Imrathon insisted weakly. He closed his eyes wearily as a wave of pain struck him with force.

Thranduil gently stroked back his friend's dark hair. Bloodied bandages nearby caught his eye. "I know not of what you speak…but the _yrch_. They did this to you," Thranduil whispered in disbelief. "And Legolas…" He trailed off, waiting for Imrathon to elaborate.

Imrathon gazed sadly at the king, grief mirrored in his silver eyes. "I told you I failed, _mellon-nín_," Imrathon said in a soft voice. "I told you."

Thranduil looked at his friend with tears glistening in his eyes. "Did they kill him quickly, or did he suffer, my friend?" He managed out, his heart breaking. _My child, my little Greenleaf, is gone. The only immortal son that Vanya has given birth to is dead. Sweet Elbereth, I have lost everyone now…_

"Legolas was not dead when they took him."

The king's head snapped up from where he had buried it in his hands. Relief washed over him. "Then he is alive!" He exclaimed, a shaft of hope breaking through the dark clouds that had infested his heart.

Imrathon sank wearily into the soft pillows. "_Ná_, yes, but not for long."

Thranduil could not breathe. When he was finally able to suck in a breath, he begged Imrathon to tell him what had transpired that night.

"Tell me what happened," Thranduil requested softly. "Please." As much as Thranduil's heart told him that he had pushed Imrathon far beyond his limits in health, he desperately needed to know what happened to his son. Gripping his friend's hand in support, Thranduil sat perched on the edge of a chair nearby anxiously.

The Elven captain opened his eyes and looked at his friend, his eyes dead. The usual spark was gone in his spirit. Imrathon shut his eyes and turned away weakly. Thranduil thought he had passed out, but he barely caught whispered words from his seat and moved closer to hear them.

"Last night, we were asleep, and everything was fine…I could see the mountains, and where we used to live…did not know…a spy…something woke me…Legolas said he heard…but we hid…I ran…he took the horse, I heard the hoofbeats…his horse is beautiful, Thranduil…have you ever seen a better-looking horse?"

"What happened after he took the horse, Imrathon?" Thranduil interrupted quietly, redirecting his friend and forcing himself to be extremely gentle. The captain was on the verge of death, and perhaps insanity. Imrathon shifted restlessly, his eyes shut as he remembered with tears running freely down his face and onto the pillow.

"I was taken…it hurt terribly…so much pain….so much pain…a whip…Valar, there was so much pain…then his screams…nothing but screams…and then nothing but silence…" Imrathon trailed off, and he suddenly went limp, and he looked as though he treaded the doorstep to death already. Thranduil was secretly terrified.

"They wanted him for something…they were searching for us…" he whispered, and then his awareness fled his body as unconsciousness took over him.

Thranduil was silent. His face was blank as he stared at his friend's sleeping form. There was absolutely no expression on the king's face. But his eyes were a completely different story. Tears threatened to overspill, and raw pain was etched on the shallow surface of the emerald eyes. He took a shuddering breath and looked away, his composed façade beginning to crumple as the turn of events began to hit him in full force.

"Sweet Elbereth…" Thranduil moaned faintly. He buried his face into his hands, and silently his shoulders trembled. "Oh no…Valar, no…"

Thranduil broke down and wept. The words were just now starting to sink in.

'_Everything was fine…'_

'_A spy…something woke me…'_

'_But we hid…I ran…he took the horse…'_

'_I was taken…'_

'_A whip…'_

'_Valar, there was so much pain…'_

'_Then his screams…nothing but screams…'_

'_And then nothing but silence…'_

"My lord, is everything all right?"

Thranduil whirled around in his chair. Daernesta was standing behind him, a worried expression upon his face. Thranduil nodded numbly. He rose to his feet without a sound, and Daernesta moved to let him pass by, but without warning the world tilted before the king's eyes and his knees suddenly felt like rubber. The ground rushed up to meet him. Daernesta cried out and immediately grabbed Thranduil from under the arms, supporting the weakened king to the door and out of the healing ward, his worst fears realized – the prince had been taken.

**TBC

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	12. XI: King vs Councilor

Mask of Innocence

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**For disclaimer, summary and rating, see Chapter One.**

**A/N: _Mae govannen!_ Yes, already, another update, but I'm sure most of you won't mind. ;) I'm back at school in less than two weeks now, and I'm beginning to worry already about homework and volleyball (if I make the team!) interfering with posting schedules, so I'm wanting to get as much published as I can. I have currently thirteen chapters after this ready to post, and even if I continue at every two days it will take me almost to September before I catch up with what I'm writing now, and even longer if I post every three days. Not sure you all cared, but I thought I'd inform you anyways.

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**Chapter Eleven: King vs. Councilor**

Several hours later, Thranduil stood silently at his balcony overlooking the forest. A gentle rain had begun to fall, pattering against the king's clothing and skin. He cared not if he became soaked. Nothing mattered anymore, now that they had taken what anchored him in life, what had kept him in Middle-earth.

_My child…my precious child…he is gone…and I cannot help him now…Oh Ilúvatar, why must you take him from me? What good will this do?_

Squeezing his eyes shut against the hot tears that threatened to overcome him Thranduil saw the face of his little son, smiling at him, once again in his mind. _My little Greenleaf, I wish to see you again, one last time. Valar, do not let Legolas suffer at the hands of the Enemy long; do not prolong his death. Let him be in peace. I do not wish for his spirit to be broken. I would see him die quickly, even if it would break my heart. End his misery, please._

Tears now coursed down his cheeks freely, mixing with the cool rain that caressed his face soothingly. His eyes suddenly strayed to the painting of his family, this time his eyes locking upon that of his wife. Her dark locks hung in soft curls about her fair shoulders, her pale flesh luminescent in the faint sunny light that shone down upon the family. Thranduil turned away at the thought of her. It hurt too much to remember, especially now. But yet he recalled how Vanya's touch would always soothe the greatest of his troubles, her kiss would always make him forget the pain and worry. _Oh Valar, I need you, meleth. I need you more than anything. Our child is gone. The child you died protecting, the one I collapsed with in my arms when all was quiet on that terrible morning, is gone._

There was a soft knock at his door, and then it swung open with a soft creak. He did not turn around.

"My king, are you all right?"

Thranduil recognized the voice of that of his chief councilor: Saeldur. The Elf had been his advisor for centuries, and Thranduil trusted the councilor's beliefs and advice completely.

"What do you think the answer to that question would be, Saeldur?" Thranduil asked shakily, slowly turning around with tears glistening in his eyes. Saeldur stepped back in surprise at the king's grief-stricken appearance; his face had lost all color and his eyes all radiance.

_He is fading._

"I have lost my only child to the same _yrch _that cut my wife's immortality from her body. Do you think I would be all right after having lost everyone close to me in my life? I will never forget witnessing all the deaths of my father, my mother, and especially my wife, but now…Legolas has been taken from me, ripped out of my heart. I will never see my son again. My precious child, the flame kindled by the love between Vanya and me. I promised her I would raise the child. A lot of good that promise will do now that Legolas is dead," Thranduil finished bitterly, ignoring the look of extreme guilt and anguish that was etched upon Saeldur's face.

"But, my king, Legolas was not dead when the _yrch_ captured him! Captain Imrathon told us-"

"Legolas is as good as dead in the hands of the Orcs, Saeldur. I thought you were wise enough to realize that," Thranduil cut in quietly, turning back to the silence of the forest. "Captain Imrathon is on the verge of insanity, and although the healers tell me he is fading I cannot help but believe that he will linger long enough to know Legolas' true fate. Yes, he told me that Legolas was still alive, but it has been three days since he was captured. No matter his strong heart, I do not think he has the strength and courage to survive even a week in an Orc camp."

"My liege, you must be strong for Legolas. We will bring him back," Saeldur promised softly, begging for his king to understand him.

"He is dead, Saeldur! Dead!" Thranduil shouted, spinning around with tears glistening in his eyes. His voice was rough with unshed tears, his eyes filled with rage. "He is dead! Orcs do not keep their captives alive, especially if they are Elves! They torture them, use them for play and to quench their bloodlust, and once the poor creature is finally granted peace and rest from their torture by death they mutilate the body! Even if, IF they keep a captive alive, they do it only to make him, or even her, may the Valar keep this horrible reality from our women, into one of their own! They turn them in to Orcs, Saeldur! Orcs! That is where their race came from! Our kin, taken by Morgoth, tortured and mutilated until their blackened, gruesome bodies possess no strength or hope to ever see the light or hear Ilúvatar's Song. That is what will happen to my child if he doesn't die! My child, my precious little son, will be turned into an Orc, and I may kill him in a battle later! He is as good as dead, Saeldur! He is gone!"

Weakened now by his rage, Thranduil turned away, hiding his shame and tears from his chief advisor. Saeldur stood silently, gazing sadly at the floor like a child who had just been scolded by his father.

"_Goheno nín, _my lord. I did not know," Saeldur murmured softly, and turned to go. Thranduil called him back.

"Nay! Nay, you do not have to go, I have not dismissed you," he cried, his voice unsteady even as he struggled to mask his heart-wrenching grief. "Company would do me good."

Saeldur resumed his position of standing several yards behind the king. Silence hung over them for the longest time, and quietly Thranduil moved to gaze at the tapestry of his family years ago. He reached out with a trembling hand to caress his wife's picture, then his infant son.

"They were so beautiful, my wife and child. I only wish that I could have held them, one last time, before I lost them both," he whispered.

It was now that Saeldur made a very unwise decision.

His brow furrowing, the chief advisor spoke up, his tone upset. "The search parties have not even been sent out yet, and you are already in despair. Is this reasonable, my lord? Is it reasonable to abandon all hope and love with no evidence that all is indeed lost? Is it reasonable to say that something that still lives has died?" He challenged Thranduil, anger getting the best of him.

"How do you know Legolas is alive?" Thranduil cried, spinning on the advisor. Saeldur was silent, visibly angered but unable to answer. Striding towards Saeldur Thranduil's eyes gleamed threateningly, and he grasped the councilor tightly, their faces inches apart.

"If you have any news of my child, speak it now, or may you be thrown in the void with only the most evil and treacherous to keep you company," Thranduil threatened darkly, his tone low and dangerous. When Saeldur did not answer the king released him, having vented all his anger, as despair began to take control yet again. Thranduil looked away, and when his cold emerald eyes met Saeldur's gaze again tears glistened in his perfect orbs.

"Give me a week, my liege," Saeldur requested softly. "I only ask for a week, and then you may abandon all reason and end your life in whatever fashion you see best."

Thranduil looked away. He nodded slightly, and then looked back up. There was a sudden desperation in his eyes, as if he realized already what kind of end he would meet if his child did not return to him.

"Please, Saeldur, bring him back," Thranduil begged softly. He turned around and started to walk away, and Saeldur barely caught the words the king uttered as he lingered for a moment at the door:

"If my child dies, there will be no one left to rule in my place. For instead you will have two bodies; one of a fair, young Elfling with his small body ravaged by Orcs, and one of a cold, broken-hearted king, cursed with living to see the last days of his house and cursed with the task of burying his only child."

With those last words Thranduil was gone, having given into to his sorrow and despair, leaving Saeldur alone in his task to bring home the life and innocence of the Woodland Realm. And the councilor knew that without the laughter and bright smiles of the prince throughout the halls and trees of their Elven kingdom, Lasgalen would perhaps be doomed in the fight against the overpowering darkness that threatened to consume all.

**TBC

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	13. XII: The Dark One

**Mask of Innocence**

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For disclaimer, rating and summary, see Chapter One.

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**Chapter Twelve: The Dark One's Poison**

A little body lay sprawled in the dark room. The room was freezing cold and pitch-black, no tapestries or furniture to soften and warm the small circular chamber. It was as if the shadows were part of the room itself, so even if the heavy iron door creaked open and let some amount of light in the shadows would remain. The obsidian the room had been carved from was dark and slick. It was truly an evil place.

Anyone who had seen the tiny body that lay in the evil chamber would have thought that it was dead, for the flesh of the child was icy and drained of color. The bright red blood contrasted sharply with its pale skin on its face, and the child's eyes were shut tightly as it lay still. But suddenly the body twitched, and a whimper escaped its lips. The child sat up gingerly. Blinking, he tried to figure out where he was, but then it all came back to him like a bolt of lightning had struck him.

Legolas huddled into the corner, heart pounding. "_Ada_…help me…" he begged dimly, his eyes darting around anxiously. The last thing he remembered was being struck across the forehead and slamming into the ground before darkness enveloped him. _So **that's** why my head aches…_

"Glad to see you're awake, Elfling."

Legolas cried out in surprise. The voice was sinister and terrible, chilling Legolas to the bone. He struggled to remember who it was that was speaking to him.

_Welcome to Dol Guldar, Prince Legolas of the Woodland Realm…_

"Leave me alone!" He suddenly screamed. The Dark Lord laughed.

"Tsk, tsk. Why should I, when you are so irresistible, my little Elf?" he tormented, and Legolas shrank away in terror.

"Who are you, and why do you call me yours?" Legolas whispered, hugging his knees in fear. The lord stepped from the shadows, revealing a ghost of a man at least nine-feet high. Darkness enshrouded the spirit-like form, a cloak of evil hanging from its broad shoulders. It was eerie to see it, for it seemed to be a body he could touch, yet it seemed transparent. _Like a shadow._

"I am known to your father and the Wise Council as the Necromancer, but you now know me as Sauron, my little pet," The Dark Lord told him. Legolas' eyes widened.

"But you…you are supposed to be-"

"Dead?"

Legolas nodded his head in disbelief. Sauron let out a cackle.

"Oh, but do I appear dead to you? Yes, I am literally a shadow of my former self, but as a shadow no sword can cut me, no arrow can pierce me. I am indestructible," Sauron hissed, his red eyes glowing. "I call you mine, because you will belong to me soon, Legolas."

"You cannot touch me, you're just a ghost! _Ada_ will save me, you'll see!"

The spirit bent down and traced the contours of Legolas' face. Legolas recoiled as icy fingers dug deeply into his fair skin. He tried to swat the hand away, but his fingers met nothing.

"I am touching you now, aren't I?" Sauron whispered. Legolas gulped. "I can touch others, but they cannot touch me. What makes you think your precious _Ada_ knows you're here?"

The Elven prince struggled to find an answer. His eyes suddenly lit up. "Imrathon…they left him alive…he told my _Ada_, I know it…and _Ada_ will save me," Legolas announced confidently. Sauron gazed at him with smug smile. Legolas felt the desperate hope in his heart fade as he saw Sauron's grin.

"Know this, child, that if your father intervenes in any way, I will not only kill you and Thranduil, but kill your precious friend my men left behind," Sauron told him with a sinister glint in his eyes. Legolas' heart stopped.

"No!"

"Yes, my child. The little captain of your entire army, eh? I was also told that you love him dearly, as a brother it seems. Your instructor and tutor, I presume?"

The immortal child nodded in terror. Sauron chuckled.

"But they let Imrathon go, they promised not to kill him!" Legolas cried out, tears streaming down his face.

"_They_ promised, child, not me," Sauron said darkly. He grinned maliciously. "I can do whatever I want with him."

XXXXXXXXXXXX

"But…but how do I know you will kill Imrathon…he's leagues away from here, you cannot kill him…" Legolas stammered, trying to convince himself that Sauron could not touch his father or friends. _He cannot kill him. He will not. He wouldn't touch Imrathon…or Ada…_

"Thranduil will die if he tries to take Dol Guldar, for I cannot be wounded. But for your little friend…" Sauron laughed suddenly. "I have a few tricks of my own up my sleeve." The shadow grabbed Legolas by the arm and dragged him into another room; just as dark as the throne room he had been in before. But it was empty, save for a pedestal in the exact center where a sphere sat balanced perfectly in the middle. Sauron yanked Legolas to his feet and shoved him in front of the orb, holding him tightly so the child could not escape. The sphere came to life before the prince's eyes, fire licking at the insides of the glass ball as energy crackled and hissed around it.

"Now, show me the Elf captain," Sauron murmured greedily. The ball glowed for a little while longer, and then a scene faded in, and Legolas nearly collapsed. Imrathon lay on a bed, ashen-faced.

"Imrathon!" Legolas shrieked in terror. The Elf in the sphere did not react.

The captain was in the healing ward back in the Elven-king's halls, Legolas knew. White linen wrapped his body tightly, and the Elven prince remembered with tears pricking his eyes the horrible night when Imrathon had been whipped and injured terribly. The captain's chest rose and fell faintly, but he was deathly still.

"He cannot hear you, my little Elfling," Sauron crooned in his ear. "This is called a _palantîr_, a Seeing Stone, created by Fëanor and brought here by Elendil of Númenor, whose accursed son cut from me my source of power. Only seven exist, and I am able to see whatever I wish, anywhere in Middle-earth, at any time."

Legolas looked up at Sauron in horror. "But you cannot hurt him from here, you cannot. You're leagues and leagues away from him, and even the great Beleg Cúthalion could not pierce an enemy with an arrow that far away," He whispered in disbelief, begging the Dark Lord not to confirm his worst fears. Sauron looked at him with a growing malice in his evil eyes.

"Ah, but I can, my little prince, I can. And who said I was using a bow and arrow?"

_Sweet Elbereth, no!_

Legolas stumbled backwards in shock. "But…how?" He gasped out.

"Let me show you," Sauron told him, and yet again Legolas was dragged to the dim hallway. He was yanked down the corridor to a barred room that was full of cases and shelves of herbs and poisons, thankfully sliding easily along the polished obsidian floor. Sauron tossed his captive to a corner like a sack of grain and picked up a dark bottle containing a strange liquid. "_Morion sangwa_ – what do you know of it?" Sauron questioned, holding up the vial for Legolas to see.

"Nothing," The Elven Prince answered, but quickly translated it from the Quenyan language. "It means 'the Dark One's poison.'"

"Indeed."

"But what does it have to do with my friend?" Legolas demanded. Sauron smiled.

"Everything. This toxin was upon the whip that your friend was tortured with – yes; I saw the whole thing, through the _palantîr._ The toxin cannot be removed from his system, and it cannot be seen, smelt, or tasted once it makes contact with someone or any part of them, including their flesh and blood. Your friend or any of the healers taking care of him do not know it is there because it does not affect him. That is, it does not affect him unless I want it to."

"But-"

"Do not interrupt, little one. It is impolite. This poison was created by Morgoth, my great master, who was thrown into the void years and years ago. Hence the name 'the Dark One.' This toxin was never used, for it had just been completed when the cursed Valar threw him down from his rightful position as the Dark Lord, but because I survived…" Sauron smiled suddenly, if it could be called a smile upon his twisted face. "I inherited all of it, including this." He waved the bottle in Legolas' face.

"Now, if I wish to hurt him and not kill him, all I have to do is mix a drop of this in his blood, and it will affect the body whose blood it belongs to, causing more pain the more toxins added. Would you like to see how it works?"

Legolas shook his head franticly. Sauron chuckled.

"Too bad. I planned on showing you anyway." He grabbed a jar on the highest shelf and uncorked it. He sniffed it, and sighed in delight. "Elf blood, so sweet and pure…" the spirit moaned, savoring the smell. Legolas stared at Sauron in horror. "This is from your friend that I collected when my Orc leader returned with the whip," he explained quietly. The Dark Lord let one drop slide from the vial of _morion sangwa_ and into the container of blood.

"Shall we see what happens to your friend now?"

Without warning Legolas was dragged from the potion chamber back to the _palantîr _room and the globe crackled to life as soon as Sauron gazed into it. Imrathon appeared in it, writhing in pain and screaming upon his bed, sweat streaming from his pale forehead. A healer, whom Legolas recognized as Daernesta, was anxiously bending over the hurt captain, struggling to find what was ailing him. Legolas cried out in horror and felt his heart plummet to the pit of his stomach. _NO!_

Sauron watched Legolas' reaction with a maniacal grin. His eyes were alight with pure evil and hatred for the child and the race he belonged to, and he was almost laughing out loud at seeing the little prince pleading for mercy on his friend's behalf.

"I am sorry, my little child; I cannot reverse the effects," Sauron apologized, but his tone was anything but sincere with a grand smile spreading across his shadowy face. "But now we know what will happen if you or your father get out of line, am I right?"

Legolas stared at Sauron with tears in his eyes. "How could you..?" He whispered, sinking to the ground and huddling against the wall in terror. Sauron grinned.

"Get used to it, little prince," Sauron said maliciously. He drifted towards the door, and had almost left completely before turning back around and shooting a smile in Legolas' direction. "And by the way, you will be staying in here with the _palantîr_ to keep you company, so you can check up on your little friend, or your _Ada_, or anyone else dear to you while you reside in Dol Guldar. I am sure you will love it here."

Then the heavy door slammed shut, and Legolas was alone.

**TBC

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	14. XIII: Until We Meet Again

**Mask of Innocence**

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**For disclaimer, rating and summary, see Chapter One.**

**A/N:**Hi again. I want to apologize in advance about responding to reviews by email, for I fear that I am getting very lazy with that. Sorry. More than likely I will stop answering reviews, since I'm getting more and more every time. But that's good! Very good! I like reviews! (grins hopefully) Oh, and a big _hannon le _goes out to **Redleef**, **Elf771**, and** Hippielover 459 **for reviewing _Soldiers & Heroes_!

All right, enough apologies and thank-you's, and we'll get on with the story.

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**Chapter Thirteen: Until We Meet Again**

The darkness was suffocating. Legolas could only huddle farther into the corner as the blackness of the room seemed to envelope his fair body and choke him of any happiness or hope. A day had passed since Sauron had left him. He could not stop seeing Imrathon lying on the bed in his mind, screaming as the poison took over his system. He missed _Ada_ and Imrathon terribly, and everyone else in the palace. He wanted to wake up from this nightmare, and he wanted _Ada_ to come in to his room and hug him, telling him everything was all right. Legolas' heart ached for home, and for all the people he loved. Two days was long enough in the clutches of evil. He just wished he could see his father and his home again.

Getting up quickly, Legolas wiped the tears from his cheeks and stood unsteadily before the _palantîr_. He gazed into the orb until his father came into view. Thranduil stood at his balcony. Emerald eyes stared dully and unseeing at the bright trees, not seeing their green leaves rustling in the wind. He gazed towards the south tearfully. He suddenly shuddered. A shadow darkened his face, and the Woodland King passed a hand over his eyes and turned away, shoulders shaking. The image faded away, and Legolas found himself crying suddenly. He wanted to see _Ada_ so badly. He missed the cool pine smell of his father's robes and the shimmering golden hair that was soft and silky beneath his small fingers. He missed the tight embrace only his _Ada_ had, and the brilliant green eyes that always lit up with a smile whenever he saw him.

"I want to go home," Legolas whimpered, his heart breaking. He licked his dry lips anxiously, tasting salty tears as they slipped down his cheeks. "Please, I just want to go home."

"Crying again, my child?"

Legolas jumped and whirled around. "Leave me alone, you've tormented me enough, haven't you!" he cried desperately, tears streaking his face. Sauron shut the black iron door and stepped towards the prince.

"I am sorry Legolas, but I just cannot do that."

Without warning Legolas was thrown backwards and into the wall, and he yelled out in pain and surprise on contact. He slumped to the ground, dazed. Sauron lowered his hand. "You see, Legolas, I am growing in power every day, but I am not quite strong enough to conquer your mighty king father. But," the Dark Lord smiled suddenly. "Now that I have you, the scale has tipped in my favor."

Legolas gazed up at him, confused. "What do you mean?" He asked slowly, getting back up onto his feet.

"I mean that you will soon belong to me," Sauron explained simply. Legolas stared at him. "Sit down, child; you must be weary from today's events. I suggest you gather your strength, for tonight…well, tonight will be our little bonding time. So we can get to know each other a little more. There is something I need you to help me with…"

"Find someone else, then. I am not helping you," Legolas declared angrily.

Sauron shook his head disappointedly. "Legolas, I thought we had made an agreement. Remember your old friend Imrathon? Does not his life mean something to you?"

Legolas froze.

"I am ashamed. I would have hoped that it would be much longer before I had to do this, but I am afraid not. Two drops for your friend."

Sauron pulled the vials from beneath his jet-black cloak and let two droplets splash into Imrathon's blood. The _palantîr _flickered to life as Sauron turned to it, dragging Legolas with him. Imrathon was lying quietly, but abruptly a scream burst from his lips and his back arched. He began to claw at the sheets and twisted himself in them, writhing in pain. His screams echoed throughout the room. Legolas was silent, watching in horror as his friend cried out in horrible pain.

"It takes a total of six drops to kill, Legolas," Sauron hissed in his ear. The scene faded away, the orange glow that had been cast in the room enveloped by darkness. "Your friend has suffered three. Would you like me to give him more, or would you like to help me, and not kill him?"

_No. Do not give in to him. It's a lie, he cannot hurt him._

_But what about the palantîr? Imrathon was not hurt before Sauron used the morion sangwa, and once he had Imrathon was screaming in pain…_

Legolas slowly made eye contact with the Dark Lord. "If I comply with you, you will promise to not harm my father or Imrathon?" He asked shakily.

Sauron nodded. "I will not harm them," He promised.

The Elven prince took a deep breath, his heartbeat quickening and his knees becoming weak. _I have to save Ada and Imrathon. I don't want them to die. I have to save them._

"Then I am yours to do whatever your black heart desires," Legolas whispered. Sauron grinned.

"I knew you would understand eventually. I will see you tonight, my little Elf."

Once again the door slammed shut on Legolas, but this time he collapsed and began sobbing. He knew he had just made a horrible mistake, and he knew it would cost him his life.

XXXXXXXXXXXX

"Hello, my little Elven child. How was your day?" Sauron asked mockingly. He stepped forward and grabbed Legolas by the wrists, hoisting his hands above his head and shackling them there. The wrist clamps were cold and rough-edged on the Elfling's tender wrists. Legolas gazed up at Sauron with terror-filled eyes as he towered over him.

"What are you going to do to me?" He asked shakily. Sauron ignored him, and set about polishing and cleaning a blade. Legolas stared at the blade nervously, praying that it would not be used against him.

"So, Legolas, since this is our bonding period, how about I ask you some questions, and you can ask some to me? Sound good to you?" Sauron asked over his shoulder. Legolas did not answer. "I've only heard about your father, child. Tell me about your mother."

Legolas looked at the ground silently. He eventually spoke up, albeit hesitantly. "She…she died when I was but a newborn. I remember almost nothing of her. But in dreams sometimes, I see her and my _Ada_ together, in the forest. It was when they lived in the mountains, in the middle of Greenwood – where I was born. _Ada_ told me that the _yrch_ attacked very suddenly, and it was the first large assault upon his people since the days of the Last Alliance; little over two thousand years ago at that time. He could not get to her side in time, not before they killed _Nana_. All I remember was _Ada_ screaming, and nothing else. I knew _Nana_ for only a few months before she died. I miss her still."

Sauron smiled smugly. "Ah, I remember the day when your mother died. It was one of the best days of my life, falling just short of besting the downfall of Númenor."

Legolas stared at him in horror. "You sent them to kill her…" he gasped.

Sauron nodded proudly.

Legolas stifled tears, burying his face into the side of his arm. Sauron turned away, and continued to organize and prepare the devices on the stand. "Do not worry my little one; you will get to see your _Nana_ again soon."

Legolas looked up hopefully. "I will?" He asked eagerly.

Sauron walked over and petted the child's golden head, a smile spreading across his twisted face confirming his words.

"Yes, of course you will," the Dark Lord assured him. He drew out the gleaming dagger, and Legolas shrank back. "Now, hold still child. I promise - this will not hurt a bit…"

Legolas tried to squirm out of his reach, beginning to whimper in terror. Sauron firmly grasped Legolas by the neck, holding him still but allowing him to breathe. The child let out a cry as the blade slit open his skin in the center of his chest, blood dripping freely from the wound. The dagger began to create an intricate design as Sauron carved into the tender skin with care, his eyes gaining a crazed glaze over their red surface at the sight of the child's blood. Legolas could not suppress sobs and yells of pain as the dagger cut the design into him at an excruciatingly slow pace.

"There. 'Tis perfect," Sauron murmured, his eyes gleaming. Legolas whimpered in agony, his warm blood trickling down his small chest. "And now, for the final touch…" Sauron proceeded to place his dark hand across the new wound on the child, and icy tendrils shot into the prince's chest. Legolas began to sob yet again.

"Please, stop…" He begged weakly, limply hanging from the cold chains that supported him.

Sauron smiled. "I cannot stop now, child, when you are so close to becoming mine," he whispered darkly, caressing the bloody carving in Legolas' flesh. "You have been such a wonderful slave, my child, but I'm afraid it's almost time to let you go," Sauron said, a hint of something terrible and horrifying in his voice. Legolas' eyes widened. "Until we meet again, Prince Legolas."

Without warning Sauron's red eyes rolled back, and he began to chant in a speech so terrible that it grated against Legolas' tender ears. A white-hot pain exploded in Legolas' body, centered on his dripping wound, and he screamed before the darkness came up and engulfed him, sucking him in and choking him of all light before he passed out.

**TBC

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(cackles evilly...) Yes, I am evil. No, you cannot burn me at the stake. Remember: you kill me, I can't post! HA!


	15. XIV: Beyond the Call of Duty

**Mask of Innocence

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****Chapter Fourteen**:** Beyond the Call of Duty**

Taidîr was not a fool.

He knew that something was terribly wrong with the king when Saeldur emerged from his chambers ashen-faced. All senses were immediately on alert as the main advisor to Thranduil beckoned Taidîr to join him off to one side in a secluded corner. The hundreds of questions in Taidîr's mind threatened to burst from his mouth, but he quickly clamped his mouth shut when Saeldur moved to speak.

"Taidîr," Saeldur hesitantly began, meeting the Elf's crystal eyes with reluctance. He stammered slightly, not sure how to continue. "I…the king…he…" The advisor stopped, looking at Imrathon's lieutenant helplessly. He then glanced away, searching for the right words. He settled on switching to the subject of searching for the prince. "Send out search parties, lieutenant. Legolas must be brought back, and soon. Taidîr, everything depends upon your agility and swiftness. I…I fear for Thranduil. He already succumbs to grief, and it will not be long before he fades. The prince must be found, and soon, or Thranduil will die."

At last, the words had been spoken. Saeldur refused to meet Taidîr's gaze. The lieutenant stared at him, searching the councilor's demeanor for a sign of falsehood. There was none.

"This is worse than I thought, _mellon-nín_," Taidîr at last said softly. Saeldur nodded, and met his eyes again. This time there was something else glimmering in the depths, and Taidîr could have sworn it was fear.

"I have bought a week from Thranduil. He has promised that he will stay with us for that long, and if Legolas is not returned to him in that time…" He stopped, looking to the lieutenant to see if he got what he was trying to imply. Taidîr understood, and closed his eyes briefly.

"For the sake of our king, the prince must be brought back in a week's time, lieutenant," Saeldur told him quietly, his eyes flashing fear and worry for an instant. Taidîr nodded his head slowly.

"It will be done."

Saeldur smiled approvingly at the new commander before leading him into the Council Room down the hall. The room was huge; the ceiling was at least a hundred feet up in the cavern, but warm light flickered over every surface, and one could not have guessed that the Council Room was actually underground along with all the other rooms in the Elven-king's halls. Saeldur strode with purpose for the large oak council table and pulled a map from the stack of parchment that lay there. Taidîr gazed over his shoulder as the head councilor assigned parties to certain areas.

"You are to take Imrathon's place as captain. Break the _taur-maethor+_ into six main parties. They will all head south, combing through the various spots where the _yrch_ are known to inhabit. Do not directly engage them unless it is the only option available to you, understand?"

Taidîr nodded. "Yes, my lord."

Saeldur tapped a small picture of a tower in the southern part of the wood. It was labeled _Dol Guldar._ "This is where they will head with him. I would stake my life upon it," he announced quietly. "Do not let yourselves be seen. They must not think we are following. We may be able to trick them in to believing that we remain here, preparing a large force to attack Dol Guldar if we do not show ourselves. Our goals are only to quietly dispatch those who hold the child and return the prince home, and nothing else. Is that clear?" Saeldur asked, turning his sharp eyes to the reserve captain next to him.

"Yes, my lord," Taidîr answered immediately.

"Good. How soon can your men be ready?" Saeldur asked, folding the map back up.

"Within the hour," Taidîr responded, a hint of pride slipping into his voice. Saeldur smiled, pleased.

"That is very good to hear. May the Valar be with you, Captain," Saeldur said warmly, placing a hand on the young commander's shoulder.

Taidîr smiled in return. "_Hannon le,_ my lord. I can only pray that the next time we meet the prince of our realm will have been found," Taidîr softly said, and saluted Saeldur.

"As do I, Taidîr. As do I."

Taidîr bowed silently, and then left the advisor. He hurried through the halls, and within ten minutes had informed the individual patrol leaders of the _taur-maethor_ to form their parties and meet in the courtyard at midday. From there he rushed back to the armory, passing the healing ward on the way. He stopped abruptly at the door, gazing into the dimly lit room and debating with himself on whether or not he should go in when a weak voice spoke up from within.

"Taidîr?"

Taidîr stepped in quickly and moved to Imrathon's side. The Elf was steadily growing worse as pain and a strange fever wracked his weakening body.

"Taidîr?" Imrathon weakly repeated, squinting slightly to see whether or not the lieutenant knelt beside him. Taidîr nodded his head, gently taking one of the captain's clammy hands. Imrathon squeezed wearily in response. His silver eyes were dull, all life having disappeared from them the horrible night Legolas had been taken hostage. The captain and lieutenant met each other's gaze for a moment before Imrathon closed his eyes and turned away.

"Stay with me, my friend," Taidîr whispered, stroking Imrathon's cold fingers soothingly. "_Saes,_ Imrathon, stay with me."

Imrathon slowly turned his head, his eyes fluttering open. A faint smile flitted across his face for an instant before he lost the strength even for that small task.

"Why must I stay, Taidîr?" He murmured softly as he lay alert but drained of all vigor. "I have failed my king and lost his child. I am no longer worthy of keeping alive." With those bitter words he shut his gray eyes and sighed.

Taidîr gazed at him concernedly, his brow furrowed with worry. "No, Imrathon, you _must_ live," He begged quietly. "I cannot be a captain. I…I am not worthy of that position. Already I feel the strain of being appointed substitute for the search parties. I cannot imagine being one everyday."

Imrathon smiled gently. "I know, Taidîr. But you _are_ worthy, and you _are_ strong enough. I have seen you on the battlefield and you have a calm demeanor even in the worst of situations, and the men respect you. That is a great honor. You cannot command men who do not respect you and who do not carry out your orders without hesitation."

Taidîr felt his eyes sting with tears, and he blinked as his vision blurred. "_Hannon le,_" he whispered, and gave his friend's hand a final squeeze. "But if he lives…if the child lives, and he is brought back and healed, promise me you will live for the child," Taidîr pleaded desperately. "Legolas will be lost without you, he will want to see you again, alive and well."

Imrathon gently stroked the lieutenant's silk hair back, smiling faintly. "I will try my best, Taidîr. You will get no promise from me, however, and you know that I would not promise the impossible."

Taidîr nodded, closing his eyes briefly to stifle the tears.

"Bring the child back, Taidîr," Imrathon murmured as Taidîr stood. His eyes fell closed once again. "Do what I could not. I know you will make me proud, Captain."

A silver tear slipped down Taidîr's face as he left the healing ward.

XXXXXXXXXXXX

_What in Arda has happened here?_

When Taidîr strode into the stables, he stopped. It was empty, save for his horse. There should be at least twenty horses in here, for this section of the stables was reserved only for the _taur-maethor_ leaders and a few others. He frowned, but went ahead and readied his stallion despite his growing confusion. He tightened the straps on the bridle, patted the horse's broad forehead, and led him outside. At first he shielded his eyes slightly as the sun broke through the rain clouds and blinded him momentarily, but when he saw what lay before him his jaw dropped, a gasp escaping his lips.

Fifteen-hundred Elves stood before him, ready and waiting in the palace courtyard. He checked the sun's position. It was not even half an hour past eleven. He looked back at the army, and blinked. One of the patrol leaders spurred his horse forward, saluting Taidîr.

"You're late, captain," He said with a smile, silver eyes glittering.

Taidîr raised an eyebrow. "Are you so sure of that?" He asked, completely baffled. "I thought I had given orders to meet at midday-"

"Indeed, you did, Taidîr," The commander interrupted quietly. "But as the protectors of our king and prince, we felt it our responsibility to go beyond the call of duty." His eyes suddenly twinkled. "So, we came early."

Taidîr broke out in an appreciative smile. "_Hannon le_, Aradan. _Hannon le_," he murmured kindly, his eyes softening.

Aradan nodded his head slightly in acknowledgement, a soft smile blessing his own fair features. "You and the king are most welcome."

Taidîr mounted his horse, gazing out at the army that stood before him, willing to go beyond his orders just to save one child of the realm. His clear eyes swept over the clearing, taking in the vast amount of soldiers that had come. It was unbelievable.

"Shall I ride with your troops, Aradan?" he asked, turning to the raven-haired commander next to him.

"If that is your wish, Captain, it will be done."

Taidîr turned back to the army.

"Prince Legolas' life is at stake. Will you let him die?" He shouted to them.

The _taur-maethor_ answered as one.

"No!"

"Then what are you waiting for?"

With a cry that for hundreds of years had driven fear and madness into the hearts of their enemies, the forest troops of the Woodland Realm set off, their light footsteps never making a sound as they leapt into the trees and down the paths. Their prince was in danger, and not even death could stop them now.

**TBC

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_+taur-maethor: forest warriors: warriors that are stationed mainly on patrols in the forest and are the most familiar with the paths of Mirkwood. They use secrecy and stealth as their main weapon, dispatching their enemies silently from the trees and from afar. The primarily use the bow and arrow, although they are armed with a small knife and a short sword should it come to close-quarter combat. No, Tolkien did not invent them, at least to my knowledge. They are purely a work of my imagination; however, do credit the translations to Hiswelókë's Sindarin Dictionary.

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	16. XV: A Direct Order

**Mask of Innocence**

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Yes, I'm posting already, but I don't think any of you will mind. ;) I cannot promise updates next week, for it will be getting very hectic and busy for me, but I will try to do my best. I'm throwing out updates here because I thought you guys would like some before I am dragged onto a bus and shipped off to the terror called school, so you can at least enjoy something while I'm sitting through Spanish class.

Ah, and another thing: **this chapter contains some graphic material i.e. implication of beatings, disturbing imagery**. Just thought you ought to know.

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**Chapter Fifteen: A Direct Order**

There was no sound as the searchers slipped through the trees, invisible to the mortal eye. They listened as the trees wept and mourned around them, the grief in their hearts growing as they drew further south towards the wretched place no sane Elf would enter voluntarily. The searchers did not need a map to find their prince, for the trees could tell them the way. The trees had seen the child dragged through the underbrush. The trees had heard his desperate cries and whimpers. The trees had seen him beaten.

The trees had seen it all.

XXXXXXXXXXXX

Taidîr studied the map grimly. There were scribbles of ink everywhere, marking where a patrol had combed through the bushes, where tracks had been found, anything imaginable. But for all the clues they had found, they were still missing the prince.

Without a word Taidîr opened the log. On each page were the date and a description of the day's findings. He flipped to the blank page, Forty-third day of _Quellë_+. That was today. Taidîr sighed. _I have two days. Only two days to find Legolas. If the child is not home by then, we will have lost Thranduil._

Taidîr leaned back against the tree, settling into a more comfortable position on the ground. He would have had to have found Legolas yesterday for them to be able to return with him in time. At a full gallop with the fastest horse and the best of conditions, a single Elf and the child would perhaps make it back in three days. But if anything had gone wrong, dawn on the seventh day would come without Legolas.

"Captain Taidîr!"

Taidîr glanced up and rose gracefully as Aradan came running to meet him. His hopes shot to the sky as he saw the excitement on Aradan's face.

"What is it? Have they found him?" He exclaimed anxiously. Aradan looked away and shook his head. Every last drop of hope drained from Taidîr.

"No, we have not," the commander answered regretfully. He glanced around, making sure no others were listening and then leaned close. "But we have reports that a large party of Orcs have emerged from Dol Guldar."

Taidîr's eyes widened. "Is the child with them?"

"We know not. The scouts have not been able to get close enough. There are, however, many quarrels among them but no fights have broken out yet."

Taidîr nodded understandingly. "Ah. Keep the-" He broke off in mid-sentence, his eyes suddenly narrowing. "Do you hear that?" he murmured, his eyes scanning the trees expertly.

"Yes," Aradan turned to Taidîr, his eyes hardening. "_Yrch._"

Without warning Orc arrows sang through the trees, landing with soft clatters on the forest floor when they did not meet flesh. Taidîr and Aradan scrambled for cover, drawing their weapons. They leapt hastily into the trees for protection.

"Call all the searchers back now! The Orcs know we are tracking them!" Taidîr hissed anxiously.

"But, Captain, if we draw them back we will have no idea what the _yrch _are doing down south!" Aradan protested. "If they have the prince-"

"The searchers down south are dead, Aradan," Taidîr interrupted quietly. Aradan stared at him. "The Orcs that attack us now come from the south. If they have the prince we will soon know and advance as one and attack them. Would you have the rest of us picked off two by two until we are all dead and gone?"

Aradan gazed at him hesitantly, a frown marring his features. There was a slight doubt ringing in the back of his mind, but his head shook imperceptibly.

"Call them together, commander," Taidîr repeated threateningly. "That is a direct order."

Aradan at last nodded his consent, and in a flash disappeared into the foliage.

XXXXXXXXXXXX

There was movement. The pain came rushing back. There were shouts in a coarse language. The scraping of metal on metal, the shrieks of the dying, the silence of those already dead - all these noises came to together to create one terrible battle cry. A sudden rustle of leaves seemed louder than the fight, but that was before the voice came back. A red haze spread over the world. His voice was suddenly all around, chanting, chanting that same horrible spell. Then darkness rushed up from the abyss to greet him.

Legolas screamed.

XXXXXXXXXXXX

Gingerly the child sat up, blinking the haziness from his eyes. Legolas moaned softly as a terrible headache throbbed at his temple. He realized suddenly that his hands felt wet, and glanced down at them. He gasped. Bright red blood dripped from his fingers. Hastily the prince dropped the dagger that he gripped and wiped his hands in the grass next to him, his heart pounding.

_Wait – why do I hold a dagger?_

Legolas shivered and gazed around anxiously. He suddenly cried out, after spotting the two dead Elves that lay nearby. Their throats had been slashed.

"Valar!" he whimpered, and backed away anxiously. A sudden thought struck him, and he glanced in horror from the blood on his fingers to the dagger to the dead Elves.

_No…_

_I didn't kill them…I didn't…I couldn't have…I have no memory of this……_

Legolas would have screamed again if the Orcs hadn't suddenly appeared. They grabbed him and dragged him away, many of them wounded and limping. Legolas was dumped on the ground next to a guard-Orc, who gazed upon the child with a sudden bloodlust that made Legolas shudder.

Legolas curled up in a tight ball, trembling like mad. His stomach ached terribly, and the meager amounts of water had not sustained him. It had been nine days since he had eaten last, and two since he had received water. Sauron had been smart enough to keep him somewhat healthy, and provided him with a cup of water a day. Legolas shivered, and hugged himself tightly as a cold, bitter wind whipped through the clearing. Winter was coming, and fast.

"Come on, can't we have a bit o' fun?" An Orc protested, shoving at the captain in annoyance. Legolas barely heard any of the words uttered on the other side of the clearing; he was hardly conscious.

"The master wants him alive, Scorbag," the leader snarled. "The little one gets dropped off several leagues from the enemy's caves, alive."

Scorbag growled angrily. "We won't kill him, we swear!" he cried after the commander, who was stalking away. "Maybe give 'im a little draught to shut him up, and just toy around a little. Come on, Rorzaug. We lost the battle, curse those Elvish folk, and we all want revenge. You know you want to play," he added maliciously.

Rorzaug stopped, and turned around slowly. "I gave you orders already. If you want to fight them, you fight me. Understood?"

Scorbag hissed, but did not say anything. He waited for the commander to turn his back on him, and then he stamped off himself. He retreated to his own corner of the clearing with his fellows, and shot dirty looks at the leader. For an hour or so they whispered and muttered together, spinning horrible and nasty plans as they glanced hungrily at the shivering prisoner that lay nearby.

Without warning, the rebellious Orcs leapt to their feet and charged the guard-Orc and his prisoner. They slew the guard and seized the child before Rorzaug could react. They leapt upon him with drawn blades and deadly intents, burying Legolas underneath their hideous bodies.

"_ADA_!" Legolas screamed franticly. "_ADA_-!"

Blades tore through his flesh and ripped his gentle body. Teeth dug into his arms and legs, lapping up blood that spilled from his open wounds. Legolas could no longer hold back cries. Screams exploded from his lips. The Orcs tried to silence him, but to no avail.

But then Rorzaug broke through. Legolas stared at him in terror. _It's him. The one who hurt Imrathon. _Menacing, yellow eyes glared back at the little prince, and he was suddenly even more afraid. The lumbering Orc had blood spilled all over his body, slashes visible everywhere from a sword. The hideous hide that belonged to the Orc was black and crusty. He set upon the rebelling Orcs with a vengeance, yelling orders to let go of the little one, and the others joined in immediately. Within seconds the camp was in chaos. The Orcs set upon each other in a terrible rage, shrieks of the wounded and battle cries of the fighting echoing throughout the clearing.

In seconds Rorzaug had warded off the Orcs threatening to kill Legolas. The Elfling was sobbing in agony, curling up tightly with blood streaming from his terrible wounds. Rorzaug started to move away, but then the child caught his eye and he turned back.

A shadow loomed over the prince, and he looked up in terror. Rorzaug seized his club and raised it high above the child that lay whimpering in terror beneath him. The club made a whooshing noise as it was swung through the air.

With a sickening crack it made contact with the prince's skull, and Legolas heard and saw no more.

**TBC**

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_+Forty-third day of Quellë: November 9th _

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**Explanation of the Calendar:** The Elves obviously had a different calendar than we mortals do ;), and if the Rivendell calendar goes for all other Elven realms (more than likely), it would have probably have been used in the Wood-Elves' realm. The Elves tended to measure time in _Yéni_ (singular: _yén_), which were periods of 144 of our years. But they also had a system of measurement for one year, which was divided into six months instead of twelve with a section lasting between one and three days at the beginning, middle, and end. The months were set in a sort of pattern and fell like this:

**Yestarë – **the first section and the first day of the Elven year……………**1 day **(our March 28)

**Tulië **– the first month………………………………………………………………………………….………**54 days**

**Lairë **– the second month……………………………………………………………………………...………**72 days**

**Yávië **– the third month………………………………………………………………………………...………**54 days**

**Enderi – **the second section and the middle of the Elven year………………**3 days **

switches to 6 days every 12 years somewhat like our leap year

**Quellë **– the fourth month……………………………………………………………………………...………**54 days**

**Hrívë **– the fifth month…………………………………………………………………………………………**72 days**

**Coirë **– the six month……………………………………………………………………………………..……**54 days**

**Mettarë** – the third section and the last day of the Elven year……………**1 day **(our March 27)

Basically, it's a pattern of **1**, 54, 72, 54, **3**, 54, 72, 54, **1**, which is so unlike our own calendar that only goes by "Thirty days hath September, April, June, November. All the rest have thirty-one, except February, which has twenty-eight days clear and twenty-nine each Leap Year." If you ask me, I think the Elves were much more thoughtful in their calendar-making.

_Hannon le_ to **The Encyclopedia of Arda** for the information on the Elven calendar.

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	17. XVI: The End of the World

**Mask of Innocence

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Chapter Sixteen: The End of the World**

_I am dying._

Thranduil wept softly, leaning against the stone column for support in his bedchambers. A cup of wine was clutched in his hand, a nearly empty pitcher nearby. He wobbled slightly in his drunken state.

_I am dying._

"My king, Lord Saeldur and Lord Daernesta request an audience. Should I allow them?"

The servant received no answer.

_I must find him. I must bring him back, even if it is only the body of my child that remains. Because I am dying._

Saeldur slipped in quietly, Daernesta following closely. Grief was mirrored in their light eyes.

"My lord," Saeldur began hesitantly. "My lord…Captain Taidîr…he has not-"

"Leave me alone," Thranduil suddenly hissed in a dangerous tone, refusing to turn around. He gulped down another glass of wine and flung the cup away. It shattered on the wall, droplets of Dorwinion sliding down the sleek stone walls along with shards of glass. Saeldur and Daernesta winced as the king stumbled away and headed for the balcony yet again.

It was Daernesta that tried next. "My lord, please-"

Thranduil exploded. "I said, LEAVE ME ALONE!" He bellowed, and a chair came into his path of rage. He stumbled into it and swore severely, and threw it aside in frustration. It smashed into the wall and was reduced to kindling. He paced around the room somewhat unsteadily, his eyes bloodshot but flashing angrily. Saeldur and Daernesta glanced at each other in worry. The healer then stepped forward cautiously after noticing truly how much Thranduil had had to drink.

"My king, you should not drink so much in your condition…" He began gently, being careful to not stray too close to the king for fear of his reaction. Thranduil whirled around, fuming.

"My 'condition?'" He shouted, striding towards the healer in fury. Daernesta held his ground. "I am _dying_, Daernesta! That is what condition I am in! Are you so afraid to say it? Is it that hard to say!" Without warning Thranduil gripped Daernesta by the throat and slammed him against the wall, effectively pinning him there with his knee in his stomach and his hands tightly around his neck. Daernesta gasped for air, unable to move or speak out of shock and Thranduil's tight grip.

"Thranduil…" Saeldur warned, drawing in his breath sharply. He did not move, but prayed to the Valar that the king would regain his senses before he would be forced to act against his own lord. Thranduil ignored him.

"Look into my eyes, Daernesta," Thranduil ordered the healer quietly, a dangerous undertone in his voice. Daernesta gave a terrified squeak and yet again tried to suck in what precious air he could get. Thranduil shook him harshly when he did not comply. "Look into my eyes! Do you not see that death awaits me? I will die within two days! I have lost all my family to Mandos, and I am doomed to follow."

It was very suddenly that Thranduil's grip tightened even more, and all air was lost to Daernesta. The healer struggled weakly, trying to loosen Thranduil's hold but the king did not let go. His eyes were wide with terror, but they met Thranduil's. He would have gasped if it was possible at the moment. The look in the king's eyes was wild and untamed, fierce in anger and screaming in despair. The once beautiful emerald eyes were bright and defiant yet faint and weak. All hope in them was gone, instead being replaced by a hatred and coldness that would have rivaled that of the peak of Caradhras. Daernesta realized with a jolt what it meant.

_He has gone mad._

Saeldur watched on in horror as Daernesta began to fall limp in Thranduil's grasp, and he immediately drew his sword, whispering a quick prayer to the Valar for forgiveness. In one swift motion he deftly brought the sword to rest at the king's throat.

"Let go of him, Thranduil," He demanded softly, a sharp warning in his voice. He dared not think of what he would do if the king did not comply. Thranduil's dull eyes slowly met Saeldur's. "Let go of him," he repeated. Slowly the king's grip released Daernesta, and the healer promptly collapsed to the ground, clutching his throat. Thranduil turned around and stalked away, not caring about the healer that now lay barely conscious on the floor of his bedroom. Saeldur was about to explode.

"My lord, do you realize what you just did?" He exclaimed, striding quickly after the king. Thranduil paid no heed to his words. "You nearly killed the poor man, just for trying to help you! The world does not revolve around you, Thranduil, nor has the end of the time come."

Thranduil turned around, but he was suddenly somber. Tears welled in his emerald eyes. Saeldur stepped back in surprise of the sudden change.

"Saeldur, you do not understand," he whispered, the light in his green eyes dim and fading. "In my life, the end of the world has come when all that I loved is gone. My family is dead. My wife murdered. My child slain. My kingdom cannot escape ruin. Her downfall will come soon. You are wrong, my dear friend Saeldur – the end has come."

Leaving Daernesta lying limply upon the floor and Saeldur staring after him in shock, Thranduil disappeared into the shadows of the hallway, and was gone.

XXXXXXXXXXXX

Hoofbeats. That was all he could hear. Hoofbeats. Then there were shouts, in a beautiful, caressing language that soothed his heart and ears.

_They have come._

XXXXXXXXXXXX

Silently the large party of searchers walked through the woods, not having the heart to truly perform their tasks. Tomorrow was the last day. In less than twenty hours the king would be dead, for the child had not been found. They had lost many warriors when the Orcs had attacked. All they could do was pray that that had been the last of them.

By now they were five leagues north of Dol Guldar, and all the Elves could feel the horror that the trees screamed of. They were dying, their roots and hearts turning black and evil, corrupted by the power in the south. The shadow was spreading rapidly, and it would not be long before it reached the northern realm.

It was silent as they walked. No one spoke. All hope was gone. They had spent nearly a week searching, but the child was gone. He was held in the fortress, and nothing could bring him out of there now. Not even Mithrandir possessed that kind of power.

It was with a collective gasp that they stumbled upon the Orcs. There were hundreds of them, all dead. One of the soldiers bent to examine them more closely.

"They killed each other. Their quarrels escalated to a battle," he concluded softly. Taidîr nodded in acknowledgement of the words, prodding his horse forward. He winced and pressed a hand to his side when he shifted in the saddle, clutching at a wound that he had sustained in the battle earlier but had refused medical help with.

"Leave them. We cannot burn them without risk of being seen or setting fire to the forest," Taidîr ordered quietly. "But look for the prince. He may be among them, alive or dead we cannot tell."

With that the soldiers spread out, combing through the rotting corpses and searching for signs of their long-lost prince.

"Captain Taidîr!"

Taidîr spun around in his saddle. His eyes met the eager ones of a searcher's, and immediately dismounted. He was at the soldier's side in an instant, and gasped.

In his arms lay the child.

"Legolas," Taidîr breathed, gently taking the small Elfling from the warrior. A crust of dried blood coated his forehead, his chest still dripping with blood. The prince was as pale as the snow that fell on the treetops every winter. If not for the faint rise and fall of the child's breast Taidîr would have thought him dead. Legolas' lips were parched, the skin across his face stretched and thin as dark shadows lingered beneath his eyes even in the bright sunlight. He was running a high fever, and was shivering even in unconsciousness. But he was alive, and that was all that mattered.

"Aradan! Send word to the soldiers stationed along the route back home – we have found the child and he lives!" Taidîr ordered, and his tone of voice was joyous, even if there was a hint of worry hidden within. He was smiling for the first time in days. The searchers all looked up in surprise. Immediately they flocked to the place where Taidîr knelt, and whispers of excitement and joy exploded from them.

"Yes, sir!" Aradan called in return, and within seconds the word spread like wildfire to the palace. It would take nearly the whole day, but word would get there faster than a horse ever could.

XXXXXXXXXXXX

A messenger came running through the halls so fast that one would have thought a pack of Orcs was chasing him. Everywhere he passed the message off to he left in an uproar. Without bothering to knock the soldier burst into the king's private chambers to find Thranduil gazing out at his balcony. The weary king turned around at the abrupt entrance, and all color drained from his face. _Oh Valar, he is dead. They found his body._

"My lord," the messenger gasped out, "they found him! The prince is alive! Captain Taidîr is riding back with him as we speak!"

All Thranduil could do was stare. With a shudder and a sigh of relief he collapsed to the ground, but he had one last thought before darkness enveloped him:

_Legolas is alive._


	18. XVII: Tears of the Silent One

**Mask of Innocence

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****Chapter Seventeen: Tears of the Silent One**

_November 13th, 2062 – Two days later _

The forest was silent. Only the soft pattering rain on the leaves could be heard, and occasionally a low rumble of thunder would cause the quiet birds to stir uncomfortably on their perches. A single Elf stood on the palace steps, his councilors, healers, servants, and subjects standing nearby, not caring if his robes became damp in the rain, because his thoughts were in other places, with other people. They had found his son, but there was something wrong. The melody of his child's _faer_ was fading. His song was being replaced by darkness.

A cold dread seeped into Thranduil's heart. Shaking, he drew a deep breath, trying to calm his fluttering heart. _He will come. He is fine, he is not wounded. He never made it to the tower. Everything will be all right, and you will have your joyous little Elfling back._ But, even with the thoughts he struggled to make himself believe, he knew something horrible had happened to his child.

The King of Mirkwood stood out in the rain for over an hour. The time seemed to drag on for days, the agony of waiting for his son's arrival making it worse. He needed to see his son here, alive, able to walk on his own power, in order for him to finally be allowed to rest.

When Thranduil had almost given up, with the strength of his son's heart in his soul beginning to fade, his keen Elven ears caught the faintest traces of a set of hoofbeats. They sounded out of place, almost too loud for the blaring silence that had taken place all morning. His heart racing, the king clenched his hands in anticipation and stepped down the steps to the courtyard ground, trying to glimpse his son as he came into the clearing.

Hoofbeats echoed through the gray courtyard. One horse came into view over the bridge, its hooves clattering hastily across the stone foundations. The anxious rider drew his attention. _Nay, not one rider. There are two on that horse…_

Thranduil's sight did not deceive him. The rider bore a limp form, a small body curled up in his arms as the rider's hands anxiously grasped the reins in nervousness. The small, pale one in his arms had shimmering pale-gold hair. He was obviously in great pain, dependent upon the other to keep him from falling from the saddle, and perhaps even to keep him alive. The wounded one's head began to fall outward, and his body started to slump and slide from the rider's grasp and off the horse. Gently, the other straightened him, and whispered a few Elven words of encouragement in his ears. When the Elf reined in, accidentally causing the wounded Firstborn to shift abruptly, the feeble cry of pain that escaped from his lips made Thranduil nearly collapse.

The king's son had returned.

XXX

It was with a strangled gasp that Thranduil stumbled towards his child. Taidîr dismounted with a flourish, but as he stepped forward with the limp child in his arms it seemed as though the weary captain had only enough energy to make it to the palace entrance. Thranduil staggered forward.

"Legolas…" he breathed, his hands shaking as he reached out for his child. Taidîr carefully transferred the prince to Thranduil's arms, and immediately the king's hands curled about the child and cradled him lovingly. Daernesta stepped forward and supported Taidîr to the gates, his concern growing as fast as a patch of red that grew on his side.

"Orcs," Taidîr panted, his only word of explanation. Daernesta nodded understandingly, and proceeded to help him inside.

_There is blood on my child. Blood. From his own wounds. They beat him. Sweet Elbereth, he was beaten and attacked…_

Thranduil gazed down upon Legolas' wounds with horror, but when he saw his child draw a breath all strength fled him, and he collapsed to his knees. "Legolas…_ion-nín_…"

A silver tear slipped down his cheek and splashed down onto his Greenleaf's face. Legolas stirred suddenly, and with a faint groan the dark lashes fluttered open to reveal crystal-sapphire eyes. Thranduil waited in silent apprehension for his son to speak, to recognize him. But the child said nothing. Legolas gazed up at his father, his eyes wide and full of tears. Thranduil swallowed against the hard lump in his throat. Then, for the first time in all his years, he dropped his gaze away, averting his eyes. He had never seen a gaze full of so much pain, so much horror, so much death, and it felt as though his child, his son not even close to coming of age, was staring right through him, reading his very thoughts and ripping his soul to shreds. And Valar, it hurt. The prince's face was so pale, his eyes so wide, he was visibly terrified even as he lay in the comforting arms of his own father.

"Legolas…" Thranduil managed out, his voice breaking, and Legolas closed those wide, terrified eyes that showed nothing but fear and pain, squeezing them shut against the tears and the pain. His breathing was coming heavily now, small gasps of pain interrupting his desperate intakes of air. He reached weakly for his father, and Thranduil immediately hugged him tight, feeling the Elfling's body wrack with silent sobs. There was absolutely no noise as the child cried into king's rich green robes, no moan as his terrible wounds were pressed tightly and smeared blood onto the beautiful clothing of the king. Thranduil shut his eyes at the terrible thought of his tiny, innocent son being tortured by the servants of the enemy. Never before had Legolas acted so purely horrified or had cried so anxiously against him. True, there had been nightmares of his mother's death when he was little, but nothing had resulted in an action like this. He hushed him gently, rocking him back and forth in a soothing motion.

Legolas suddenly pulled back, gazing at the Woodland King in the eye. "Sauron has returned," he whispered, and his voice was faint and full of fear. He did not speak again.

Thranduil frowned. "Sauron? Child, he is dead. He was thrown down over two thousand years ago…" Thranduil tried to remind him softly. Legolas simply shook his head, his eyes clear and cold. _No. You are wrong._ That simple motion struck such fear in Thranduil's heart that he nearly collapsed.

_Sweet Elbereth. It cannot be true. _A hush spread over the Elves that were standing there in the courtyard. The clouds that were spread across the sky seemed to darken.

The prince slowly lowered his head back onto Thranduil's chest, and twisted his small, bloodied fingers into the soft, plush tunic. Thranduil closed his eyes, feeling tears slip down his face yet again. The Woodland King kissed the top of his child's head; the soft, smooth golden hair was like silk to his lips as Legolas was reduced to tears again. Thranduil cradled him close, swearing that he would kill every Orc in Arda if it meant that he could simply banish that terrible look of pain and horror from his child's eyes.

XXXXXXXXXXXX

The healers had left long ago, and yet Thranduil remained. All he could watch was the rise and fall of his son's chest as he lay there, having fallen asleep after the healers had finished with him and Taidîr had left after giving his report. Thranduil lovingly stroked back a stray wisp of pale-gold hair, but there was no smile upon his face.

"_A strange device has been cut into him, my lord."_

Daernesta's words rang sharply in his ears, words that had been said hours ago. Thranduil pulled back the bloodied linens on the child's chest and gazed down at the crude marking carved into his son's skin.

"_It appears to be an eye…" _

Thranduil spread the bandage back over the wound, closing his eyes against the tears.

"_He has a concussion, a deep wound upon his head, more than likely caused by a club."_

Thranduil's hand strayed to his son's forehead, caressing the bandage and the silk hair that lay upon the soft pillow.

"_But he lives, sire. Prince Legolas lives."_

It was with a sudden sob that Thranduil gathered his sleeping son into his arms. "My child, you are alive…" he whispered painfully, kissing Legolas' temple.

"How is he, Thranduil?"

A strained voice startled the king out of his thoughts, and he wiped the tears away hastily. Imrathon limped over and sat down wearily on the edge of the bed next to Thranduil. The seizures had given him a turn for the worst, and the warrior was now pale and drained of all strength. Thranduil reluctantly lowered his son down onto the soft bed, tucking Legolas in gently. Imrathon faintly smiled at the sight of the child sleeping peacefully, and the king and he both watched the immortal prince with love in their eyes.

"How do you fare this morning?" Thranduil asked quietly. A soft sigh escaped from the ex-captain's lips.

"Well, although I was healthier, much healthier, when I was borne back here on a stretcher," he allowed reluctantly. "I do not pretend that I am not weary, for indeed I am very weak. It is only a matter of time, Thranduil. If I do not die here, I will seek rest in Valinor. Daernesta is a great healer, but he cannot take away the pain I suffer daily, and now it seems as though I am plagued by an invisible ailment. Only in the West can I be healed."

Thranduil was quiet now, contemplating deeply. "You will not stay, even for Legolas?" With all his heart he did not wish for Imrathon to leave, but he knew he could not hold him here against his will.

Imrathon was quiet for a long moment, thoughtful. "If he recovers soon, I will linger for several months to be with him. I know my passing would be hard for him to accept, especially now after his return from Dol Guldar. But I promise only months, my friend, perhaps until the _Yestarë+_, for I wish to see spring again in the realm that you and your father created after traveling from Lindon, when I was young, and before Sauron came to us as Annatar, Lord of the Gifts, and began to win the hearts of our people through his lies and deceit. I wish to see this country in its splendor again, before the Shadow envelopes it all in darkness and I am forced to part with my home."

Thranduil gazed upon Imrathon at that moment, and saw the tears in the Elf's eyes, and was troubled.

"But do you not wish to seek that which will bring you rest? You seem troubled, my friend, now that you speak of your home," The Woodland King asked.

"Yes, I wish that with all my heart, but I wish to bring happiness to my king, his son, and all others I have known, for our parting would bring great sorrow," Imrathon spoke softly, and his eyes were shimmering with unshed tears.

Thranduil gently grasped his friend's hand. "Yes, at our parting there will be sorrow, but there will also be happiness, for we know that _you_ will have found joy and comfort that we could not bring."

Imrathon smiled gratefully. "_Hannon le,_ _mellon-nín," _He murmured, and the two embraced as brothers, but they did not shed tears. In that moment, Legolas began to stir, and the two friends' attention immediately was on the prince. Looking hopeful, Imrathon reached forward to stroke his face. To his relief the child's flesh was not feverish; he had not been poisoned.

Legolas' eyes snapped open at his touch with a gasp. The cool, crystal orbs locked onto Imrathon, but he immediately relaxed when he realized that he was in the company of his father and friend.

The recovering warrior smiled encouragingly, gently grasping the prince's hand. Legolas squeezed his hand in return, but did not speak. Without warning he paled, shut his eyes, and turned away. Imrathon's brow furrowed, visibly troubled at the child's reaction to him. He glanced to Thranduil, unsure of what to do. Legolas, meanwhile, rolled over so his back was to them both. Imrathon turned to Thranduil in grief, watching as the young father gazed at his child in wonder and anguish.

"He has changed, my friend," he murmured sadly, and they watched Legolas' shoulders convulse silently. Fear flickered in the king's heart at his words.

Imrathon gently placed a comforting hand on the king's knee. "May I speak with you, alone?" He asked hesitantly. Thranduil nodded immediately, a frown crossing his face briefly. The two stepped out into the corridor, and instantly Thranduil knew that this was serious.

"My friend…he is so different…" Imrathon finally whispered, his eyes everywhere but the king's own gaze. He seemed so weak, full of pain and heartache. "And it is because of me."

"No!" Thranduil immediately grasped the ex-captain by the shoulders, his gaze hard and cold. "Do not blame this on yourself!"

Imrathon still did not meet his gaze. "I am sorry, _mellon-nín, _but it is," he said sadly. "The look in his eyes…it is horrible. I cannot describe it. One so young should not possess a gaze full of so much heartache, pain, horror…" He shut his eyes and swallowed. "I cannot stay here. Seeing him like this every day would kill me."

With every word Imrathon spoke Thranduil's heart plummeted a little more.

"I will travel to Imladris for a time. If he ever recovers, and returns to his normal self, I will perhaps return. If not…I will seek the West," Imrathon concluded softly, his tone final. It was now that he finally met his king's gaze, and his eyes glistened with unshed tears. "_Namárië, aran-nín._"+

And Imrathon was gone. By evening he had taken a horse and left silently, speaking to no one before he left. He reached Rivendell unhindered, and there remained in sorrow and grief, unable to live with himself that he had caused a young child pain. The memories and pain would haunt and torture him for the rest of his days.

**TBC**

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_Yestarë: The Elves' New Year. Our equivalent date: March 28th._

_aran-nín: my king

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	19. XVIII: Melodies & Mothers

**Mask of Innocence**

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_And now I return! (glances at last posting date) Only THREE days? I was gone only that long! Ai...School certainly slows things down. Also, I am very sorry to announce that I did not make the volleyball team, for which I attended tryouts for the past three days and was forced to run the half-mile each day. (wipes tears from eyes) Well, I am some-what consoled by the fact that perhaps my talents perhaps lie in the realm of literature. (winks and elbows readers hopefully) Anyways, here is the much-desired posting, please read and review._

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_**Chapter Eighteen: Melodies & Mothers**

The next morning dawned bright and clear, the frost clinging to tree limbs and frozen grass and glittering in the sunlight. In the corridor that housed the private chambers of the king and his closest friends and family, all was quiet. The realm's prince lay asleep in his bed, sleeping peacefully for the first time in thirteen days. His golden hair was smooth and clean, lying limp upon the soft pillow that framed his glowing head. Nearly his entire body was wrapped in bandages, dried blood sharply contrasting the child's pale face. His eyes were closed. There were at least three reasons for sleeping with his eyes closed: one; he was still healing, two; he was in pain, three; he was exhausted. The father of this extremely weary and pained Elfling would have been worried sick over his child if he had not been curled up in bed with his child snuggled close in his arms.

Consciousness tugged slowly at Thranduil's mind. It was silent, wherever he lay, except for the twittering of autumn birds in the trees. His foggy mind tried to figure out where he was, but he was too weary to care. What he lay on was soft, and something warm snuggled up against him. It moved every so often as it took in a breath.

_Legolas._

His emerald eyes fluttered open, and he blinked, trying to focus. He was lying in Legolas' bedroom. Rays of sunlight wafted in from the balcony windows that were shut tightly, the curtains shimmering in the faint stir of air that swept through. A fire warmed the air in the room, its soft light illuminating the bedroom as dawn approached. The walls, beautifully carved marble and rock, were bright and shining, tapestries and pictures hung upon them displaying victories and defeats of Legolas' lineage, illuminated by flickering candles.

Sitting up with a soft groan, the King of the Woodland Realm saw that his child lay curled up on the bed with him. He apparently had fallen asleep during the night while he watched over his son. With a faint smile and a sigh, Thranduil realized that it was for the best; he had hardly gotten any sleep in the past week as it was. Taking on the task of pulling the covers up and tucking Legolas in to keep him warm, Thranduil watched as the little prince lay peacefully, sleeping silently. He prayed that when Legolas awoke he would be his bright, little Elfling. He closed his eyes at the memory of his little one, curled up in his arms, sobbing and shaking in silent anguish. Legolas had not spoken since he had been brought back.

Getting an idea, Thranduil strode over briskly to the balcony doors and flung them open, breathing in the cool, crisp air of the autumn morning. He absorbed the melody of the forest for quite a while, sighing in content. Perhaps this would spark his child to speak – he had been fond of the trees since he was born, and why not? His wife had given birth to the prince under the trees on a beautiful, bright morning. The forest had sung in joy of the birth of the Woodland Realm's child, the first born in this generation. _I will bring joy to my little one yet._

But over in bed, Legolas stirred suddenly. In his heart he listened to the trees' melody, and shrunk farther underneath the blankets, a soft whimper escaping his lips in horror. Thranduil spun around and was at his child's side in an instant.

"What ails you, _tithen pen_?" The Elf asked worriedly, gathering his child into his arms. Legolas buried his face into Thranduil's robes anxiously, crying softly into the warm, soft tunic. Gently, Thranduil stood up, and carried Legolas to the balcony, thinking it would help if he was closer to the forest and its song. But when he stepped out into the sunlight, Legolas tensed and gripped his father's tunic anxiously. Thranduil quickly retreated back into the bedroom, where Legolas relaxed at last.

"Is it the trees that bother you, Legolas?" He asked concernedly, a frown marring his fair features. Legolas nodded his head sadly, cuddling close to his father. It was then that Thranduil realized that the melody that the trees spun gave evidence of fear, mourning, despair, and worst of all, hatred. Closing his eyes with a faint sigh, he hugged his child tightly.

_They direct their hatred towards him, not the ones who did it to him. They see evidence of their evil in him, and are terrified of him. Sweet Elbereth, why must they all curse my child? Valar, the forest, my son's joy and happiness, his home, has turned against him._

XXXXXXXXXXXX

Hours later, Legolas was still asleep and Thranduil was still with his son, sitting on the bed with Legolas lying in his lap. Thranduil was simply watching his son rest, savoring the feel of his son's warm skin beneath his hand and the fact that his child was here, safe from harm. Even with his healthy color, glowing aura and his liveliness gone, it was better than gazing upon his child's dead body.

Or was it?

A soft moan interrupted Thranduil's thoughts. He gently stroked a stray wisp of pale-gold hair out of his son's eyes, watching with concern as pain twisted the ashen features. Another moan escaped Legolas' lips, and this time Thranduil frowned. Gently, he grasped his child's hand and held it firmly, willing energy into the weakened Elfling. A warm, tingling sensation spread throughout the prince's body, and with a soft moan he surfaced from unconsciousness. Blinking, trying to focus on his surroundings, Legolas realized that the blurred image of an Elf above him was his father. The sharp emerald eyes softened as he gazed down upon him, but the energy that he was willingly giving grew in intensity, providing Legolas with enough strength to try to sit up. Still not breaking the connection, Thranduil slipped a strong-muscled arm behind the little one and aided him in his attempt, helping him to sit up and lean against the headboard. The prince sat panting for a moment, dizzy and weary even after that small task, and gazed appreciatively at his father. Thranduil gave a gentle smile, his golden head bowing in acknowledgment. He had not, however, removed his touch, wishing to give Legolas as much strength as possible. _I would give him my life if I could, but I fear that he would not live long without his father._

Very soon, though, Legolas weakly squeezed his father's hand and slipped his own from the warm grasp. Thranduil frowned, reaching forward to take his hand again, but Legolas shook his head sadly. His eyes were soft and sympathetic, a lingering expression of gratitude on his face.

_I do not desire your pity, nor do I deserve your life's strength, Ada._

Thranduil's brows knit together.

"Child, I do not take pity on you, I only wish to help my hurting son," Thranduil declared quietly. Legolas gazed at him for a long while, as if doubting his words, and then looked away. Thranduil dropped his gaze to the soft cream and green-colored blankets. His hand suddenly drifted to the pendant that hung from his neck, fingering the silver charm absently as silence ensued. He was startled out of his reminisce when he felt a light touch on his knee. Legolas looked inquiringly at the pendant Thranduil held, and the king quickly undid the clasp and laid it in his palm for the child to see. On the silver chain hung a crest of leaves, spread in the shape of a flower. In the center lay a shining white jewel.

"This belonged to your mother," Thranduil told him quietly, his eyes bright as he remembered her. "She gave it to me on the day you were born. She told me that I ought to wear it, since you were too little at the time."

XXX

_At last, Vanya let out a final, soft cry, collapsing into her husband's arms weakly. "Tis finished, my love. An heir you now have," She announced wearily, gazing up at her husband with a weak smile. Thranduil embraced her gently, stroking her damp face and hair comfortingly as she gasped for breath and the pain finally dimmed._

"_Never have I loved you more, Vanya," Thranduil breathed into her raven hair. He eased her to an upright position as Daernesta handed a tiny bundle to the couple. Her arms trembling slightly from exhaustion, the lady took the bundle from the Elf's arms and felt her heart melt at the sight of her newborn son._

"_Congratulations, my lord and lady. The Woodland Realm has gained its first prince, and you have a son," Daernesta announced warmly. Vanya and Thranduil beamed, cradling the child carefully as if they were afraid that their boy would shatter like glass._

"_He is beautiful, Thranduil."_

_Vanya cradled the baby's tiny body close, gently stroking the damp fluff of hair on the child's head as he opened his sapphire eyes with a yawn. The tiny elfling made a small cooing noise, and she and her husband smiled._

"_Thranduil, to think that our love has brought an immortal flame into the world," Vanya said in awe of the child in her arms. The king smiled and kissed her forehead, wrapping his arms around her and the child in her arms. It was a sunny day, and the tall, slender trees were rejoicing now, for a Wood-Elf had come into the world in their midst, and throughout the entire morning they had shielded and cared for the maiden that went through pain to let her child breathe for the first time. Thranduil, and Vanya, knew that mortal births were much more difficult, more painful, and they both felt very fortunate with the little pain that Vanya did indeed experience. Nonetheless, the new mother had gained much needed strength through her husband's healing touch as she lay in his arms during the birth. At long last the child had finally been born, and in the instant that the immortal child took his first breath the forest had burst into song, the birds twittering and chirping and the entire realm about them singing in joy. It was a miracle, the birth of a child, and the world was rejoicing._

_Settling back against a beech tree that had shielded and cared for his wife during her entire labor, Thranduil held his beloved and newborn son close, and sighing Vanya relaxed in her husband's gentle arms, her breathing just now calming. Her dark curls were damp with perspiration at her temple, her limbs trembling from weariness, but her eyes were bright and clear, nothing but pure joy shining from their sapphire depths. The bundle of a light sea-foam colored blanket stirred, and the king and queen turned their sparkling eyes to the child that blinked up at them in the bright sunlight that illuminated the clearing._

"_What should we name him, Thranduil?" Vanya's soft, weakened but happy voice echoed precisely what Thranduil was thinking. Smiling, the Elven-king hugged her and the babe gently._

"_He has his mother's eyes." Thranduil admired lovingly and Vanya smiled. _

"_Ah, but he has his father's strong chin." She added, just as proudly, her eyes twinkling as she playfully pinched the tip of the king's chin. Thranduil laughed softly, and kissed her slightly damp forehead._

"_I believe that the beautiful woman who bore him ought to have the privilege of naming our son." The king whispered, breathing in the fragrance of his love's raven hair. Vanya gazed thoughtfully at her child for a long while. _

"_Legolas." She murmured at last. "Green leaf. Even in the darkest of hours, a single leaf shall bloom brightly and strong. Darkness threatens our home even now, and our son will lead his people wisely. He will have his father's stubborn pride, no doubt." Her gaze soft and loving, Vanya turned her eyes to her husband. "I know it in my heart, Thranduil; Legolas, our son, is destined for great things. I know it in my heart."_

_Thranduil and Vanya gazed down at the child in her arms. With a sudden thought, Vanya removed the necklace she bore upon her breast and clasped it about Thranduil's neck. The king looked up at her in surprise, catching her delicate, nimble fingers in his warm palm._

"_You should wear it now," she murmured, her eyes full and shining._

"_Why do you say this? It is your necklace, and you are the one to keep it. And it looks dazzling when you wear it alone with me," he added slyly, his arm snaking around her waist and pulling her close. Vanya laughed, her eyes twinkling mischievously. She nestled her head against his shoulder, sighing in content. Thranduil kissed the top of her head, her dark curls brushing his cheek. She reached around and ran her slender fingers across the tip of his pointed ear, down his jaw line and brushed the smooth hollow of his neck, eliciting a soft moan of pleasure from her husband. With a sigh, he settled in closer and drew his wife near, being careful not to jostle the babe, and their lips enveloped each other in a long, passionate kiss._

"_You still did not answer my question, meleth," Thranduil breathed when they broke away for a breath, his eyes still closed as he savored the taste of his love's lips. Vanya chuckled lightly, and kissed him again. What seemed like hours later, their lips finally parted, and Vanya spoke._

"_The necklace is yours now, my love. It is my gift to you, for without your love our son could never have been conceived, Thranduil," Vanya whispered in his ear. She kissed him gently, stroking his cheek._

"_But you are the one who bore the child, Vanya, and labored for many hours to give birth to him."_

_Vanya caressed his silky smooth flesh, a light smile gracing her fair features. "Then the necklace represents my undying love for you and our child. Are you content with that answer?"_

_A loving smile spread across Thranduil's face. "Yes, I suppose I am."_

_They shared one last kiss, and then gazed down at their sleeping child._

"_If you ever grow old of it, I suppose you could give it to the little one when he is older." Frowning, Thranduil cupped her smooth, luminescent face in his hands._

"_Vanya, I would never grow old of your love," He told her quietly, his eyes serious. Vanya smiled._

"_Good. I am happy to hear it. Whenever we are parted, Thranduil, my heart is always with you, but even more so if you bear a token of me about your neck," Vanya whispered, closing her eyes as her child snuggled up close to her and let a weary sigh escape her lips. Thranduil's lips brushed her raven hair yet again._

"_I know, meleth. I know."_

XXX

"But now," Thranduil smiled gently at his son and reached forward to fasten the necklace about the young one's neck, "I think you need it more than I."

Legolas stroked the precious charm timidly, as if worrying that he would break it. Thranduil smiled as he watched his son lovingly place it underneath his light tunic, keeping it safe against his chest and over his heart. With that, Legolas curled up to rest and let out a small sigh, and this time it did not worry Thranduil as much to see his child sleeping with his eyes shut. His beloved was watching over his son tonight, and nothing, not even nightmares, could disturb him this evening.

**TBC

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	20. IXX: Dreams, Darkness and Death

**Mask of Innocence**

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**_Warning: this chapter contains graphic violence and/or death. Read with caution, but it does not exceed a strong rating of PG-13. _**

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_**Chapter Nineteen: Dreams, Darkness, and Death**

The next morning greeted a young father and a little son in bed, both still blinking sleep from their eyes. Within the hour, the morning meal was brought up, consisting of bread and fruit for the king and a warm, healing broth for the prince. The king, however, declined his meal.

"I am not hungry this morning, but I thank you for the trouble," he said. It was a lie and he knew it, but he was not going to waste time eating when his son was in pain. So he picked up the bowl of broth and helped his son to sit up on the headboard, propped up by dozens of pillows.

In no time the king was helping Legolas swallow spoonfuls of warm broth, making it easier for him by feeding him by hand. Legolas ate, and quickly, because he was incredibly hungry, but his mind was elsewhere. After a quarter of the bowl was emptied, Legolas suddenly pushed it away and curled up on the bed, closing his eyes. It was too warm in the room for his comfort, and he was beginning to get dizzy. Gulping back nausea, he groaned slightly and tried to get comfortable, clutching his stomach. Concern overriding any other actions or thoughts, Thranduil called for Daernesta. He arrived within seconds.

"Yes, my lord?"

"Is there an herb to help his stomach?" Thranduil asked, hardly for a second letting his gaze stray from his child. Daernesta frowned, and placed his cool hand over the prince's forehead.

"He is burning up," he murmured, and sat down on the edge of the bed, beginning to get concerned. Thranduil's heartbeat quickened slightly. Daernesta felt the prince's pulse – it was far too rapid and erratic. His expression grave, he undid the bandages on his wounds. They all seemed to be healing, albeit rather slowly, but with no traces of vile toxins on them.

"He does not seem to be poisoned," Daernesta concluded softly, his brow furrowed. "But he is nauseous?"

"Yes. He began to feel so after he started eating," Thranduil explained quietly. He took Legolas' hand into his, squeezing it gently. The child weakly squeezed back. Without warning, Legolas fell into a coughing fit, and the coughs sounded more like hacking than a quick clearing of the lungs. Almost immediately the prince's condition went from bad to worse. His desperate coughing turned into gagging, and gagging into retching. Painfully the meager contents in the immortal child's stomach worked their way out of him and into the cloth that Thranduil held outstretched to help ease his son in any way. When he had finished, Legolas lay trembling on the bed, gasping. Sweat soaked through his clothes and drenched his body. Legolas shivered uncontrollably, clutching the blanket up around him and curling up. Comfortingly Thranduil stroked back the sweaty tendrils of golden hair from his forehead.

"Rest, little one. It is all over now. I am here," Thranduil murmured. He cleaned his son's mouth gently as to remove any sickness leftover and placed a cool hand upon his forehead. Legolas was still running a high fever. Tenderly the king laid a damp cloth upon his son's head to perhaps cool him off and pulled more blankets over him, noting that even as Legolas was feverish the immortal prince was shivering and trembling with cold. Daernesta drew out a small vial and gently let the liquid trickle into the prince's mouth, and Legolas swallowed it gratefully.

"Ernil-nín, îdh si,"+ Daernesta said softly as he placed his hand over the prince's forehead, and Legolas fell limp, slipping immediately into the blessed realm of rest. Thranduil watched his son for a long while, taking in the deathly pale tone of his skin and the flesh pulled tight over his bones. Even in sleep a grimace marred his features, the pain and fear in his dreams not abating. He was so small now, so tiny and weak. The bed seemed immensely huge compared to the child that lay in it.

"What ails him?" Thranduil asked suddenly, his voice dreadfully quiet and dead. Daernesta turned around, having been checking over the sleeping prince and his wounds. He averted his gaze, not wishing to meet his king's sharp emerald eyes, and stopped his ministrations.

"I know not," he answered softly, and turned back to Legolas. All air escaped from Thranduil's lungs. "It could be because of an infection, but his wounds appear to be healing fine. I am at a loss, my lord. He is not suffering under the effects of a toxin, and should not be, for he was not poisoned. He has a slight concussion, but it is not life-threatening or going to create any aftereffects. I gave him a mixture of herbs and water that will help his fever, and I will bring a mixture for his stomach soon. But tell me," Daernesta sat down on the edge of the bed, looking up expectantly at Thranduil, "tell me what his condition was when Captain Taidîr found him."

Thranduil settled down on the bed also, absently stroking his son's arm. "He had a high fever, and was unconscious at the time," he began slowly, trying to remember what it was that Taidîr had reported to him. "It was easy enough to tell that he had a concussion and had been attacked by the Orcs. They were fresh wounds, all save the wound on his chest."

"The mark," Daernesta said quietly. Thranduil nodded solemnly. He suddenly frowned.

"Have you seen the mark before? Can you recall it from anywhere?" He asked, thinking hard himself. Daernesta shook his head.

"Nay, I have not."

Thranduil was visibly disappointed. "Nor have I."

Silence ensued as the two were left to ponder in their own minds.

"But Taidîr told me that Legolas was running a high fever when they found him," Thranduil suddenly said, looking to the healer. "He became sick soon after they began to ride. Does that mean anything to you?"

Daernesta shook his head after a moment. "Nay, it does not. I can only think that he has ingested a kind of toxin, but it does not appear in his wounds. He may have drunk it, however, and we would not know unless he told us. But do not ask him, Thranduil," Daernesta told him softly, meeting the king's anxious gaze. "He has gone through too much in the past week. Let him rest."

Thranduil nodded, knowing it wise not to argue. He did not wish to harm his child or cause him pain more than he needed to. Legolas would tell him what happened in due time, he knew it for sure.

"For now, I can give him medicines that will cure the toxins we know that the _yrch_ can possess," Daernesta informed him. He got up to leave and prepare something for the child's stomach and an antidote for the poisons. Thranduil stopped him suddenly when he reached the door.

"And if they do not work?" Thranduil asked hesitantly. Daernesta lingered for a moment, and then met the king's gaze slowly.

"I do not know what to tell you, my liege. But it very well may be that we will lose the child," Daernesta murmured sadly, and disappeared in a swish of deep red robes. He left Thranduil alone with the terrible knowledge that even though his son had been rescued from the clutches the enemy, he still had to be rescued from the ever-growing shadow of death. And even if he survived the duel with everlasting sleep, the Shadow that threatens to not only consume the child's body but also take control of his mind could kill him instead.

XXXXXXXXXXXX

_Sauron has returned._

Thranduil sighed. Every moment since he held Legolas in his arms and had been told that the Dark Lord had returned he had brooded and pondered over the possibility of his return. Thranduil tried to assure himself that it was impossible. Elrond, Círdan, Gil-galad, Isildur, and Elendil had all been witnesses of the downfall of Sauron. Thranduil had not personally seen Isildur cut the Ring from Sauron's hand, but he believed it with all his heart. Elrond would not have lied to him – Elrond was an Elf of honor. All Elves were Elves of honor, so they would not have dared lied to another. It would have killed them.

Thranduil restlessly turned over in his bed, breathing deeply to try and calm himself.

_So why is Sauron back?_

Thranduil answered his own question instantly.

_Sauron is back because the Ring remained undestroyed._

He closed his eyes and cursed the weakness of Isildur silently. It was because of Isildur that his child was now a mute husk, a shadow of what he once was, that his kingdom was now threatened by darkness that would engulf them forever, that his wife had been slain not a league from their home. It was because of Isildur that his father died for a cause that was not honored. Oropher had led Lasgalen's army to Mordor for peace, and along with two-thirds of the army he paid for it with his life. And none of that had ever mattered to the son of Elendil when it came time to uphold his family honor and destroy the one thing that kept Middle-earth from peace.

Thranduil lay on his back now, staring up at the curved stone ceiling above him. Soon enough, his body sought respite and he allowed himself to slip into blessed sleep, his eyes roving over the room and coming to finally linger upon the balcony, gazing out at the stars to gather the rest his mind strived for. His body gained rest along with his mind that night, but little did he know that his dreams would be plagued by nightmares.

XXXXXXXXXXXX

_Arrows fell like rain. They struck the earth around him, causing him to stumble and trip ungracefully. The poison in his system did not help his balance, and he fell to the ground with a grunt. Several Orcs leapt upon him, shrieking, and he felt the entire amount of air whoosh out of his lungs from the enormous weight. Out of sheer desperation to get to the woman and child he slit the throat of one Orc while shoving it backwards, throwing its companions off him. Finally free, he took off in a flash. _

"_Thranduil!" A woman's voice screamed and Thranduil gazed ahead anxiously, his emerald eyes bright with worry and dread. Orcs were gathered in a clearing, backing a frantic maiden clutching a child into a corner. He found himself dashing in front of the beautiful lady as an Orc blade swung at her and the baby. He ducked under the swinging blade while shoving her back and out of range of the blow. Pulling himself back up Thranduil swiped at the first Orc that came near enough to strike. He was using the blade from his boot – but it was so small that he was not going to be able to parry any of the enemy's attacks; he would have to rely on his own swiftness and quick-thinking to keep him from getting killed. _

_Twirling in a vicious fight for his life Thranduil danced out of the way of several blows, but several could not be avoided. Scimitars and knives scraped across his arms and legs, and his clothing was soon drenched with the blood of himself and others, for it seemed as if every wound he delivered he received one himself. There were so many Orcs to fight. /Keep Vanya alive. Die for her, to keep her and the child safe…/ _

_Suddenly there were only about ten Orcs left. They crowded about the king, all trying to strike him. He cried out as a knife sank into his shin, and he fell to one knee. He slashed blindly at anything that got close, blood dripping from his body. Several fell as he struck with fists and the tiny blade in his hand. Thranduil struggled to his feet again as he realized that there were half a dozen Orcs left. /Stay awake a little longer. Almost there. Stay awake…/_

_A lumbering Orc loomed up suddenly in front of him, blocking all light from the cloudy skies. A scimitar appeared in his hand, and it came swooping down towards his neck. Thranduil ducked low, bending towards the right, and jumped back up as soon as his weary body would obey, but a sharp pain in his right wrist drew a hiss from his lips as his body twisted to the side from the impact of an arrow, his other hand immediately seizing the wounded limb. His bruised and bleeding fingers, now gone numb, curled about the shaft of an arrow that had pierced straight through his arm as he prepared to draw it out. He never got the chance to. _

_Blinding agony exploded in his left side, and a red haze clouded his vision. The king heard a hoarse gasp come from his lips, and he tasted blood. Time seemed to freeze as Thranduil sank to the ground, the scimitar embedded deeply in his body. He vaguely heard the woman cry out. Several of the Orcs that had towered over him disappeared for a moment. Screams suddenly sounded behind him as the sickening sound of the tearing of flesh filled the air._

_/Vanya. /_

_Weakly the king fell onto his hands, and he tried to turn towards the woman he was trying to protect, his beloved wife. She lay on the ground, the Orcs attacking at her brutally and shredding her fair skin, lapping up the crimson blood that streamed from her mortal wounds with glee. The baby, their child only months old, lay wailing nearby, having fallen from her grasp. _

"_NO!" Thranduil cried desperately, and he lurched towards Vanya, her eyes locked onto his. She was still alive; her body was shaking like a leaf as she gasped for air. Her eyes were round and filled with terror and pain, and Thranduil felt his body lurch to a halt when he saw the naked fear in Vanya's eyes. The Orcs drove one of their poisoned blades into her, and she squeezed her eyes shut as a scream burst from her lips. Every cry she uttered ripped at Thranduil's heart. The pain in his side amounted to nothing now. /They are killing her. Valar, they are killing her/_

_Thranduil tried desperately to get his body to move, but his strength was all but gone. /Sweet Elbereth, get up! Vanya is going to die if you do not fight! Remember your father, how he died? You couldn't get to him fast enough, and now you will lose another the same way. Avenge him, avenge Gil-galad, all those Elves that deserved to live, to go back to their wives and children! Get up, Thranduil/_

_The king blindly groped for his tiny blade, pushing himself up onto his hands weakly. An iron-shod foot came smashed into his side, right where the scimitar was embedded in him, and Thranduil slumped to the ground with anguished cry._

_Vanya wept as the Orcs ravaged her body. Excruciating pain was washing over her like the turquoise waves of the sea. But Vanya's sobs and pleas reached deaf ears. She barely heard the child begin to wail for her, and she tried to gather the strength to get to her son but failed. /No, I cannot leave him. No…I cannot die…oh Valar, no, I cannot leave the baby…or Thranduil…no…/_

_Vanya felt a sudden calmness replace all the pain. She lay still, watching the Orcs tear at her flesh, seeming to hover over her body. But she felt the Orc clamp on her throat, stifling her yells, and rather heard than felt the sickening sound of her immortality being wrenched from her body. Thranduil stared in horror._

_/No. /_

_A soft gurgling sound was heard from where the queen of Greenwood lay, as her precious blood spattered across the ground of the clearing. She seemed to desperately hold on to that tiny thread that kept her alive, but she could not breathe and her life was draining away as fast as the blood that was pouring from her open throat. The light in her eyes at last died, and she went limp._

_When Vanya stopped moving, Thranduil screamed. _

_All time seemed to cease. Thranduil could not hear anything but his erratic heartbeat pounding in his ears and the steady trickle of his blood hitting the ground in puddles, but he cared not. His wife was dead. Vanya is dead. _

_Dead. _

_Not breathing. _

_Not living. _

_Gone. _

_Dead._

"_You are losing him, Thranduil."_

_Thranduil spun around._

"_Vanya?"_

"_Legolas is slipping out of your grasp. You cannot stop his fall now."_

_Thranduil could not seem to find the source of his love's voice. /She died. She cannot speak. So who is it that is talking to me/_

"_More happened in Dol Guldar than you know."_

"_What happened? Tell me, saes!"_

"_That is for your son to tell you, not for me. Goheno nín, my love, I wish I could help you."_

"_How can I help him when I do not know what befell him?"_

"_Watch him, Thranduil. You will learn in time. I will always watch over you and the child, always. Remember this: darkness cannot rule when all that it encounters is darkness."_

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With a cry Thranduil lurched forward, and he found himself sitting upright in his bed, the blankets twisted about him.

"Oh, Valar…" he breathed, gasping for air. Cold sweat streamed from his forehead. He buried his face in his hands. "Valar, no…"

_Darkness cannot rule when all that it encounters is darkness._

"But what does it mean?" he whispered to the shadows of his bedroom. "This dream, and the riddle, what does it have to do with my son?"

Groaning, Thranduil swung his legs over and sat on the side of the bed, taking deep, steadying breaths. Never before had he dreamed of Vanya's death, not even when he lost her the first time. And he was sure of it, that Vanya was trying to tell him something. But what it meant he had no clue.

_Darkness cannot rule when all that it encounters is darkness._

It made no sense. But whatever the meaning, Thranduil knew he had to find out soon. A terrible shadow had come over his mind as of late, and day by day it only grew darker.

**TBC**

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_Ernil-nín, îdh si: My prince, rest now_

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	21. XX: Someone at the Gates

**Mask of Innocence**

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_Mae govannen! Yes, I know I am late in posting. I hope you accept my sincerest apologies. I wish to revoke my earlier statements that claimed that I would post every two days, and instead replace it with the fact that I will start posting once every week or so. I have hit a very serious, delicate situation in Chapter 24 andspecial care is required for the following chapters, so I am visiting and revisiting those chaps as to make it as powerful and well-written as possible. Bear with me on this, as school is already beginning to add up and it is difficult to find time to write amidst homework and other extracurricular activities that I am currently involved in._

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_**Chapter Twenty: Someone at the Gates**

_December 14th, 2062 – One month later_

Legolas watched silently as his father worked at the Council Table scribbling over several sections of parchment and muttering to himself. It was almost midnight. The prince had indeed survived; whatever signs of poisoning disappeared within a day of Daernesta's diagnosis. He had been given medicines and herbs to help, but none of them did anything to help the young Elfling. Instead, he woke up the next morning in as perfect health as one that had been beaten and terrified half to death could be.

But instead of death taking him, the Shadow slowly was winning.

The young prince waited patiently until Thranduil finally finished and stood with a sigh. The king let out an ungraceful yawn and turned around, only to find a pale Legolas directly before him.

Thranduil stepped back in surprise with a gasp. Just as quickly he relaxed with a nervous chuckle and scooped his child into his arms.

"What is it, Legolas? I thought you were asleep," The king asked concernedly. Legolas' eyes were dull and void of light, as usual nowadays. The child pointed in the rough direction of the palace doors.

"Is there something at the gates I need to see?"

Legolas nodded once.

Thranduil started out at once, his graceful, long strides carrying them both quickly to the steps that led to the great gates, went through them, down the long stretch of steps, and stepped at last down in front of the bridge. The starlight cast a faint luminescence down onto the snow in the large courtyard, the forest shrouded. But in the center stood an old man, leaning on a staff and cloaked in gray. A low chuckle rumbled from the throat of the man, and Thranduil broke out in a sudden smile.

"Mithrandir?" He gasped disbelievingly, stepping forward. The old man crossed the clearing in several strides, his long, gray beard the only thing one could see in the shadows of his tall, pointed hat.

"Yes indeed, Thranduil," The old man replied, his voice rough but warm. "And it has been too long since I last visited the king of the Wood-Elves."

Thranduil smiled, and stepped forward to greet his old friend. He gently set Legolas down in the snow, the child staying hidden behind his father's regal robes as the king embraced the Istar in friendship.

"Yes, it has been far too long. And you have missed many things, including the birth of the kingdom's first prince," Thranduil answered proudly, his eyes glimmering in the darkness. Legolas remained hidden behind him, clutching at the king's robes anxiously. Gandalf smiled, and glanced down at the Elfling that was barely taller than his knee.

"So you do not count the fact that you were a prince once, eh?" Gandalf inquired, his bushy eyebrows raised.

"Mithrandir, I was not born a prince, and neither was my father born a king," Thranduil reminded him.

Gandalf bent down to his knees, extending a gnarled hand to the shy child.

"And is this the beautiful child that will succeed the stubborn king of the Woodland Realm?"

Legolas did not reply, instead shrinking closer to his father. He glanced up with worry at Thranduil. The king bent down and reassuringly patted his back.

"Indeed. His name is Legolas – Vanya chose the name," he explained, smiling. Legolas cautiously stuck a small hand out towards the wizard, who took the proffered hand and shook it warmly.

"It is a pleasure to meet you, Prince Legolas," Gandalf said graciously, but then winked. Legolas did not smile, but cocked his head slightly to one side as if he had become ever so remotely curious about the wizard. Gandalf stood, a soft grunt escaping his lips when his joints refused the motion in the cold.

"Speaking of Lady Vanya, where is she now? Her merry smile shines like the sun, and I cannot help but notice that her laughter is not heard in the forest," Gandalf asked curiously. Thranduil's happiness faded, and met Gandalf's eyes with reluctance.

"There is another event that you missed, my old friend," Thranduil explained softly, and Gandalf's smile disappeared. He opened his mouth slightly to say something, but decided better of it and pressed his lips together, instead giving a small nod. Thranduil glanced away.

"She was killed by the enemy not three months after the child was born, and I bear scars still," Thranduil murmured, not wishing to meet the wizard's keen gaze. Gandalf frowned, troubled greatly by the news.

"I am sorry, Thranduil."

Thranduil nodded, and sighed. No tears came to his eyes now, but his heart was still heavy with newly awakened despair. He opened eyes he had not realized he had closed, and managed a smile. He squeezed Legolas' hand reassuringly.

"Come, you must be weary of your journey."

Thranduil stood and led them inside the warm palace.

XXXXXXXXXXXX

"Is he always like that, Thranduil?"

The king finished pouring another glass of wine. They were now in his warm study, having had put Legolas back to bed an hour or so ago.

"You speak of Legolas?"

"Yes. He seems unusually quiet for an Elfling," Gandalf responded quietly, gazing at a beautiful painting on the mantel of a fireplace and accepting the goblet of Dorwinion that was handed to him. "Thank you."

Thranduil sighed, pausing as he raised his glass to his lips. "No, not always. Not before they brought him back." Gandalf's brow furrowed, but he did not speak. Thranduil would elaborate when he deemed it best. The king sank wearily into a plush chair that sat in the corner of his study, gazing out the glass window at the snowflakes that danced in the starlight. He closed his eyes, and many silent minutes past where only the rustle of the tree branches in the forest could be heard. "He was tortured in Dol Guldar."

The glass nearly dropped from Gandalf's hand. "Dol Guldar?" He breathed, steadying himself on the oak table next to him. Thranduil pressed a hand to his eyes but nodded. He sat back suddenly, taking a deep breath to calm his frazzled nerves.

"Imrathon – you remember him, do you not? - had taken him on a hunting trip, a little over a month ago. The first night they were attacked. Imrathon was captured and tortured there in the camp, but Legolas escaped. It was difficult to understand what happened then; Imrathon was in horrible pain and was passing out even as he spoke to me, but I believe that Legolas came back to find him. Then he was taken by the Orcs.

"Imrathon was left to die, and Legolas was dragged off by the Orc party. Nine days later they find the child, bloodied and unconscious, lying the middle of a camp of dead Orcs that had slaughtered each other over a quarrel of some sort. Orc tracks made by the party were found father south all the way to the front gates of the Hill of Sorcery+. One set was six days old, and they had entered the tower with the child. The other set was no more than a day old; they had bore Legolas from the tower and had quarreled with each other after attacking the sentries, eventually killing themselves and leaving the child alone and unconscious. They found an eye carved into his flesh…" At this Thranduil shut his eyes. Gandalf let out a sigh of despair, comforting the young father simply by moving to be near him.

"And so he refuses to speak," Gandalf finished quietly, settling down upon the chair next to the king's. Thranduil nodded, and be bent his head in sorrow. After a moment Gandalf was able to see the horrible pain in his friend's reddened eyes, and knew what would happen if Thranduil's child remained mute, refusing any love or light.

"The trees mourn for him, Mithrandir, and they seem to be frightened of him!" Thranduil looked up, a battle of emotions in his eyes ensuing as his voice began to tremble. "They shrink away from his presence; some even show anger towards me. Sauron stole my child from me," he whispered. "And all that was brought back to me was an empty shell. Legolas has changed, and I fear he will never truly live again. The healers administered many cures for all possible Orc poisons, and although he did not react to any after several days he was fine. At least, he was as fine as a mute, cold, dying Elf could possibly be," he added darkly with tears glistening in the warm candlelight.

Comfortingly the wizard enfolded young king, at least young compared to himself, in his warm arms, and there the king lost himself in his sorrow. "It will be all right, Thranduil. I promise – it will be all right."

Thranduil nodded tearfully. After a moment he pulled from the wizard's grasp and strode to the balcony window, gazing out with tears still shining in his green eyes. He was silent for a while, and Gandalf was about to ask him what was on his mind when Thranduil abruptly spoke.

"I fear I have already lost him, Mithrandir," he confessed weakly. "How long can a child, a Wood-Elf born under the trees, survive like this? He is fading, I see it day by day. Every day he grows quieter, paler, weaker, thinner. And his _faer_-" A sob suddenly escaped from his lips, and the devastated king sucked in a shaking breath. "-his _faer_ is being replaced by darkness. Something terrible is happening to him, I know it in my heart."

At these words Thranduil's shoulders trembled with sobs and he buried his face in his hands. The king's shimmering gold hair fell like a curtain in front of his face, hiding his shame and tears. "He will die soon. He dies a little more every day. But he must live. I will not survive otherwise. For when I am gone, who will rule in my stead if not him?"

Gandalf stayed where he was, but smiled faintly at the thought of him becoming king. _He would be a wonderful ruler, just like his father, even if he inherits the stubbornness of the king before him._ "Thranduil, do not think such things now. Do not lose heart already. If you give up all hope, your son will also. You must be strong for the boy, Thranduil. You must be strong."

Thranduil lifted his head and gazed at Gandalf sadly. His voice came out whispering and full of grief.

"I know what I must do, Mithrandir, and I would do it, but I am afraid that I cannot," He raised his solemn, beautiful emerald eyes to meet the ones of the wizard. "And you would not be able to also, not if you knew that your child would die no matter what you did."

**TBC**

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_+Hill of Sorcery: translation of Dol Guldar

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	22. XXI: Heaven & Hell

**Mask of Innocence

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****Chapter Twenty-one: Heaven & Hell**

_I am not a Wood-Elf anymore._

Legolas pulled the warm, woolen blanket around him tighter, gazing up at the snow-covered limbs that were like a thicket in the canopy of the forest across the river. He tucked his cold hands in under his blanket, trying to keep warm. Despite the cold, he wanted to be outside, so he could be alone.

The prince could not help but miss the times when he had the energy and will to go and do the things he used to love. But Dol Guldar had changed him. Legolas shuddered at the thought, huddling farther underneath his blanket. He would never be the same again. Never. He found no joy in anything now, not even being outside. But the trees were his only comfort, despite the fact that they seemed frightened of him. However, Legolas dared not venture beyond the bridge to be with them. The forest was not only terrified of him, but he was terrified of it also. Forever there would be a shadow in his mind that lingered over the once beautiful wood because of what had happened in there.

It was strange now, what was happening to him. Legolas found himself unable to speak, unable to react, unable to feel happy or excited about things. And it scared him, but not as much as the memory of the Dark Tower that lay nearly ninety leagues south.He saw it with his father. A dark shadow lingered over his _Ada_. Before he had been taken, their evenings were filled with nothing but laughter and happiness. Every day Legolas could not wait for supper, for after supper meant evening. It was in the evenings that Thranduil could finally spend time with Legolas. Sometimes he and _Ada_ played chess, other times they read a book, and on special occasions they got to go to the armory or another special, secret, adult place where he could stand and gawk at everything in the room or run around excitedly picking up every single thing.

But since he had come home, things had changed. There were no more evenings spent together, sitting by the fire speaking of Legolas' _naneth_, _daernaneth, _or _daeradar_. Thranduil had tried the first few nights when Legolas was home, when the prince was feeling well enough to be up and out of bed, but his son did not react to it. Legolas remained mute, unmoved by the games and tricks Thranduil would try to play. After a while, Legolas would turn away from his desperate father and climb into bed. There he would lie for hours, until Thranduil came back to kiss him goodnight. Then sleep would take him, and even there he could not find peace from the endless torment he suffered.

Because of him something had snapped in his father, Legolas knew, and for the first week or so he would look up occasionally and sometimes find his father in tears, which startled him greatly. Thranduil would assure him that everything was fine, but he knew it wasn't.

Every waking moment Legolas felt like the living dead. Nightmares plagued him even in daylight, and when he was not asleep. He could hear whispers around him, but no one was there. Visions of Sauron would come to him in his dreams, and he would wake up panting, but his father did not come to comfort him because he did not know. Every moment in Legolas' life was hell.

And it drove him mad.

Every day it was the same. _Ada_ would come in and wake him up and together they would go down for the morning meal, but like usual Legolas would hardly touch his food. From there it was off to the Council Room for meetings that lasted until midday, and Legolas was allowed to go wherever he pleased while Thranduil was shut away in the council room with representatives and council members. Usually Legolas locked himself in his bedroom, where he either crawled back in bed or sat silently at the balcony, even in the cold. Legolas simply picked at his plate at the midday meal. An untouched supper came after an afternoon of either sitting on the rug in his father's study idly playing with a small toy while the king worked on his notices and papers, or back in his bedroom on the balcony.

Legolas suddenly winced and pressed a hand to the center of his chest. The mark had begun to burn recently, and each time he felt it the pain was worse than the last time. No one had noticed that the mark had not faded like his other scars had, and that it was doing the exact opposite of fading; it was growing stronger, and it was growing more visible. The prince had no idea what it meant, and he almost did not want to know.

_It will go away soon. Maybe it's just an infection. It will take care of itself in time._

He glanced back up at the trees, listening to the song of fear, mourning, joy, and hatred they wove for him. The fear he could understand. They were scared of him, scared of what Sauron did to him. Legolas shuddered at the name. He barely understood why they were scared of him, why they hated him. It was because, in his mind, they realized what he was – something tainted by evil. A freak. That was what he was. He was no Elf, not now. The trees hated him because he hated them.

Mourning – that made sense. They were unhappy about what had happened to him, and so was Legolas. He hated to remember what had happened, and shut the thought out quickly as the darkness of Dol Guldar threatened to consume him yet again.

But joy? Why were they happy to see a mute, unhappy Elfling?

Legolas thought of his mother suddenly. He missed her, and wondered if he saw her again if he would feel happy again. He wondered why Sauron – there was that name again – had promised that he would see her. Maybe he meant that he would bring her back? Legolas felt a tiny spark of brightness at that thought. He had never really known his mother, and his father always got a dreamy look on his face when he spoke of her beauty. He said that she had dark, soft curls, was tall and fair. Her sharp eyes glimmered like sapphire and silver.

"Like yours," Thranduil always said to Legolas, gently touching his cheek. He said that she was the most beautiful woman in the world.

"More beautiful than Lúthien Tinúviel?" Legolas would exclaim in awe. Thranduil's eyes would twinkle.

"More beautiful then Lúthien Tinúviel," he would confirm quietly, breaking out in a smile.

The rustling of the tree branches in a swift, cold breeze broke into Legolas' thoughts. Hatred echoed through the forest whenever the trees felt the presence of the Elves' youngest child and only prince. Legolas sighed. He was not sure why they hated him, only knowing that Sauron had done something to him that made the trees frightened of him. _And from fear sparks hatred,_ as his father always said.

Someone clearing their throat made Legolas spin around. The wizard stood behind him, a warm smile on his face and eyes twinkling.

"Good morning, Prince Legolas," he announced kindly. Legolas nodded solemnly and turned back to the trees. He wished the old man who had arrived late last night – was his name Gandalf? – would go away so he could be alone. But instead of doing that, the wizard settled down next to him. Legolas chose to ignore him and instead drew absently in the snow.

It was a cold morning, and the snow had stopped falling several hours ago, leaving another thick blanket of ice crystals across the land and a pillow of somber, gray clouds in the sky. Legolas glanced up at the wizard as if asking, 'do you need something?', and when Gandalf only continued to watch the forest, he turned back to the freezing-cold river that rushed past him, tendrils of water freezing at the edge when it left the main course.

"A bit of a dangerous place to ponder, is it not?" Gandalf commented gently, noticing the torrents of water that swept everything past and watching the child as he continued to draw in the snow. The Elfling prince did not speak. Gandalf glanced at him for the initial reaction, but there was none as Legolas continued to run his fingers through the ice crystals absentmindedly. A silence fell over the two for many minutes as the wizard and prince watched the strong river rush by in rapids of ice-cold water. Gandalf, for once, was puzzled. He was at loss for how to breach the tender subject of Legolas' confinement and torture in Dol Guldar.

"Your father told me what happened," the Istar finally said quietly. Legolas drew his breath in quickly, and let it out just as soon. Cold eyes were raised to meet the silver ones next to him, but then dropped away.

"He said you have not spoken since the day they brought you back."

There was a slight nod. Gandalf sighed almost inaudibly. This child was not going to talk easily.

"You must be strong, for you have borne great pain and terror with courage."

This time there was a shake of his head, and his eyes met the wizard's before they closed. The child's arms wrapped around his knees and hugged them tightly; he was huddling into the smallest ball possible.

_I am not courageous. I have no strength. I am a weak little Elf, and my home has turned against me,_ Legolas whispered in his mind.

Gandalf frowned with his brow furrowing at the little one's thoughts, for he could hear the unspoken words as if they had been shouted in his ears. He gently placed a comforting hand around the small Elf's shoulders. Legolas shrugged it off, scooting farther away. The wizard withdrew. He watched sadly as Legolas' shoulders began to tremble, and muffled sobs were heard from the little Elfling.

"No matter what you think, Legolas, you are strong," Gandalf assured him gently. Legolas spun around, tears slipping down his face and eyes full and shining. He shook his head franticly, and buried his face yet again against his knees.

"Scared…of…of _him_…" Legolas whispered hoarsely, his voice weak and faint. Gandalf carefully pulled the child closer, despite his want to be alone.

"And you should be," Gandalf answered softly. Legolas gazed up at him tearfully, a slight hint of confusion in his face. "We should all fear him. Not only can the Dark Lord take the lives of us and our loved ones, but he has the power to destroy our souls if we let him."

The Elfling shuddered and shrank farther into his embrace. The wizard was slightly surprised at the horror and pain that seemed to be emanating from the child's body.

_You do not know what he did to me._

Gandalf closed his eyes. "No, I do not, child, but if you let me help you I can banish this darkness that has laid claim to your heart and mind."

Legolas pulled away and looked up at the wizard, swallowing against the lump in his throat.

_How?_

Gandalf smiled gently. "By teaching you to love and hope again. The trees will learn that you are not to be afraid of – they are only frightened of you because you do not react to their song. You are a Wood-Elf, and you have abandoned your love and devotion to the earth and trees because of your horror and pain. You can still find your love, Legolas. You have changed in many ways, young Prince, but not all changes are permanent. All you have to do is open your heart, and soon you will begin to know what it is like to be a Wood-Elf again."

Legolas nodded slightly, tears welling in his eyes again. _But how do you know this?_

Gandalf's eyes twinkled slightly. "I am a wizard, Legolas, and I know many things, many things that I myself cannot understand. But I promise you, your hurts can indeed be healed."

The darkness and coldness in Legolas' eyes seemed to dissipate slightly; a faint ray of hope was beginning to shine through the dark clouds that possessed him. Gandalf suddenly stood up, picking up the small Elf-child and carrying him across the bridge. Legolas tensed slightly, feeling the forest's melody increase in volume in his heart. He squirmed uncomfortably, giving a clear signal that he did not want to do this, a small whimper escaping his lips.

Gandalf continued to walk, ignoring the feeble pleas of the child in his arms. "Hush."

"They hate me, they will hurt me, Gandalf," Legolas whispered in terror, attaching himself tightly to the wizard.

"Nay, that is not the case, young one," was the reassuring reply. Legolas squeezed his eyes shut, tears beginning to prick at his eyes.

"Please…"

"I thought you wanted to be healed, child. Or was I under a false impression during our entire conversation?"

Legolas did not answer.

Every footstep brought the prince closer to the things that hated him the most, the hatred and horror in the trees' songs growing louder by the second. Soon the screaming melody was twisting his soul apart, wrenching his insides up and ripping his heart into shreds. Legolas gave a soft cry of anguish as they drew within several yards of the dense, dark forest. Legolas wept softly, the song of hatred and fear bringing him to tears. He seemed to think that if he curled up tight enough in the wizard's arms the forest's _faer _would simply die out in his heart. The creak of the tree limbs, the rustle of leaves, the groan of the wood swaying in the breeze – they all carried the same message, that the little one was not to be trusted, that he had been tainted by darkness.

Legolas let out a soft moan, shifting restlessly in the warm embrace and sending out a clear message that he wanted to be taken back _now_. Gandalf quieted him yet again, knowing full well that every moment was becoming worse and worse for him.

Legolas' tears fell more quickly now as his heart began to race. The groans of protest and fear of the forest were rising in a crescendo, threatening to engulf the child should he pass the boundary of the wood. Not heeding the blaring warning, Gandalf continued to stride forward, picking out a specific beech tree whose song was so quiet that it could barely be heard. Unlike the screaming protests of the rest of the forest, this tree possessed a soft, blissful song that not for an instant held within its melody a note of pain or anguish. In his heart Legolas heard the different harmony and quieted for a moment. Soon the beech's soft, light melody began to overwhelm all the rest and the chaos of the forest began to die out. The turmoil and disarray was slowly replaced with a gentler song, its melody like that of many harps and fair Elven voices woven into an intricate harmony. The song of hope. Even if it was only the song of a few and not all, it was all Legolas needed.

Hope and light burst through the Shadow that was taking over his mind, and it felt as though the hundreds of pounds of weight on his heart were lifted in that instant. Legolas suddenly found himself on the ground, walking towards the beautiful beech that had given him hope with a trembling hand outstretched. Cautiously, as if worried that by a simple touch it would all vanish, Legolas reached out, and his fingers brushed the rough bark. In that instant, the winter birds burst into song, the beech's melody soared in happiness at the touch of an Elf, and Legolas smiled. For the first time in over a month, he truly smiled. It was not a smile marred by a grimace, anguish, or without heart. It was a genuine smile. And then, he even laughed. The song of the forest burst into life, singing joyously at the return of the prince that they knew. The sun broke through the clouds, shining down upon the little, joyous Elfling, and behind the child a warm, hearty laugh broke out from the wizard. Remembering who had taken him here, Legolas suddenly spun around.

When Gandalf gazed into Legolas' eyes, he saw the true Elfling that had hidden in the shadows, that had remained mute, that had distanced himself between him and his father, his friends, his home in the child. And in his eyes, there was a sparkling happiness, not the cold, dead gaze of a dying Elfling. And then, without warning, Legolas threw his arms around the neck of the wizard and hugged him tight. Gandalf laughed again, hugging the young prince back.

"_Hannon le,_ Gandalf," Legolas whispered, the only words he could manage in his excitement and pure joy he was experiencing now.

"You are most welcome, dear child," Gandalf murmured kindly in his ear. "But I believe your _Ada_ will want to see you now."

Legolas broke out in a wide smile. "Come on, Gandalf, we haven't a moment to waste!" With that he seized the wizard's hand and took off towards the palace, a chuckling Istar in tow. Trotting quickly to keep up with the wizard's strides, Legolas led the way to the Council Room, chatting excitedly as he went.

Thranduil was sitting at the head of the Council Table when he heard two people approach. Listening intently, he heard with slight amusement that one was an Elf-child, chattering away like a little wren as his older companion let out a warm laugh every few moments at the child's antics. _Perhaps one of Elrond's children is here. Almost a millennia old, and still acting like an Elfling! Sweet Elbereth, Elrond, I always knew something was amiss with you. I wonder, though, what brings them here in this time of great peril…_

"Pardon the interruption, councilors, but I must see to the guests that I believe have just arrived. Saeldur, do you mind?" Thranduil stood gracefully, inclining his head in the direction of the councilors that surrounded the table.

"Not at all, my liege. As our king was saying…"

In mere moments Thranduil had crossed the large room and exited the Council Room, a look of complete calm and nobility upon his fair face. The welcoming words, however, died on his lips when he saw the 'guests' approaching. There before him was Gandalf, leading a small, golden-haired child. Or was the child leading the wizard? Nevertheless, the immortal boy's eyes were shining proudly, a smile spreading across his fair face. He seemed to be glowing, happiness and excitement radiating from him like a fire and warmth.

"_Ada!_" The Elfling exclaimed brightly. Thranduil was still rooted to the floor, a look of shock and surprise etched into his features.

"Legolas?" He breathed in awe. The child nodded enthusiastically.

"Of course, who else could I be?" He cried merrily. A laugh turned into a choking gasp as it exited Thranduil's mouth.

"It cannot be…" He whispered, falling to his knees. Legolas threw himself at his father, hugging him tightly. Tears streamed down Thranduil's face. "My child…my little Greenleaf…"

"I am better now, _Ada_," Legolas murmured softly, closing his eyes and breathing in the forest smell of his father. For the first time he felt joy in the embrace of his father, and he hugged him even tighter. But Thranduil did not care about the fact that his child was beginning to cut off his air supply. His child, his pride and joy, had been returned to him at last. And even though the land was enveloped in cold and the darkness came quickly at night, the clouds of despair that hung above them had been cleared.

The true child that had died in the depths of Dol Guldar was alive again.

**TBC

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	23. XXII: A Feast

**Mask of Innocence

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****Chapter Twenty-two: A Feast**

It was that evening that Gandalf stumbled upon Thranduil in the torch-lit corridors of the Woodland caverns. The king's eyes were bright and sparkling, their emerald color glittering like gems. Legolas had been put to bed already, so the Elven-king was alone.

Gandalf nodded his head politely at the king. "Thranduil."

Thranduil smiled warmly. He clasped his friend on the shoulder, and together they started down the hallway, no specific target in mind.

"_Hannon le_, Gandalf," the king suddenly said quietly.

Gandalf turned to the king, his warm eyes shimmering, knowing what he spoke of. "You are most welcome, my young friend. I only wished to make him happy."

"That you did," Thranduil murmured sincerely. "He is…alive. I hear his _faer_ in my heart now, and its melody is full of joy and love. I am happy for him."

Gandalf smiled. "Every father should be proud of his child when he overcomes things that even his elders cannot conquer."

"What kind of enchantment did you put upon him, Gandalf? How did you drive the shadow from his mind so easily?" Thranduil asked of him. The wizard beside him stopped and turned to fully face the king.

"Your son did it on his own, Thranduil," Gandalf told him truthfully, speaking softly. "Yes, I gave him a little nudge, but I put no spell or enchantment over him." Thranduil's brow furrowed, and he gazed thoughtfully at the wizard.

"But I ask you again: how did you do it? How did Legolas come about to being cured?"

"I call it love."

"Love? From whom?"

At this Gandalf laughed. At the king's frown, Gandalf quickly sobered, and gazed at the fair king warmly.

"Love from his home. His forest, his realm, his people," Gandalf explained gently. Thranduil's eyes widened slightly.

"The forest?" He asked in surprise. "He is frightened of the forest. The forest's harmony in Ilúvatar's Song speaks of nothing but fear and hatred when my child is even exposed to the outside. Did you set an enchantment upon the trees, then, to make my child believe that they love him now?" He finished, his tone half-jest, but a bitter anger was visible in his voice.

Gandalf's eyes darkened. "Thranduil, do not mistake me for a magician that performs only tricks and spells to mask problems and dilemmas," he told him sternly. Thranduil's eyes flashed at his reprimanding tone. He was a highly-respected king; he was _not_ chastised by wizards. "I help your son, and all you do to reward me is accuse me of performing a magic trick to make him happy? I find that very interesting, my lord. A simple enchantment would never have the strength to draw the Shadow from a mind, not even a child's. The head of my order may have the power to do so, but seeing as I do not-" he gestured to his gray robes and to himself, "-I am forced to use other ways to bring aide.

"You are right in that your son was terrified of the forest, and that it hated him back. But what I believe you did not know was that the shadow that was over Legolas' mind was self-induced; Sauron had not placed it over him. Legolas recovered from Dol Guldar weeks ago, although his memories will remain with him forever. What you saw was the results of distancing himself from you, his friends and the forest most of all. The initial terror of Dol Guldar and the attack in the forest was what drove him to become frightened of the forest; he did not wish to go near it again for fear of the Orcs that attacked him and the Elven-captain. The trees were frightened of him in return because of his negative outlook on them – it was Legolas' own _faer_ that displayed his hatred and fear for what lay within the forest, and the trees took that as meaning that he hated _them_. They, in turn, began to see him in a negative light and saw that Sauron had tainted him and poisoned him, consequently hurting Legolas. You most of all should know that Elves, and even more so Wood-Elves, cannot live long without the music of their home without being affected. Legolas was dying, and it became more and more evident as he refused to let in any love or song. When I finally showed him that not all hated him, and that some of the forest understood that he was scared of what lay within and not themselves, the barrier that Legolas had set up in his mind and heart broke. He heard the forest in Ilúvatar's Song again, and rejoiced, and when he felt love and joy again, the rest of the forest saw the Elfling for what he should have been: an earth-loving, happy and sweet Wood-Elf. Your child did it on his own, Thranduil. All he did was confront his fears, and that was all it took."

When Gandalf finished explaining, it was then that Thranduil realized that his mouth was slightly agape. Humbled by the wizard's words, he dropped his gaze submissively. "I know not what to say," he managed out quietly. "But the Woodland Realm shall always be in your debt, and should the need arise we will come to your aide without hesitation."

Gandalf chuckled, his eyes twinkling. "Now, I do not think I needed _that_ kind of repayment," he jested. Thranduil smiled kindly.

"Nonetheless, the offer stands in hopes to decrease my debt to you in some small part," the king repeated warmly. They continued along the corridor, walking aimlessly for a few moments in silence.

"How about Dorwinion?" Thranduil suddenly asked. Gandalf let out a laugh.

"Thranduil, please, your thanks was enough the first time, and I do not need to be carrying carts full of your finest wine with me to every corner of Middle-earth!"

"Ah, but you would do our trade well," Thranduil returned, raising his eyebrows in a question of whether or not the wizard would be willing.

"But the last thing we need is a king sleeping and eating with piles of gold at his side," Gandalf retorted. A light, melodious laugh burst from Thranduil's lips.

"Well, since you have so obviously proclaimed your disinterest in our wine, I suppose you would not wish to join Legolas and I at the feast I am holding in several days time," Thranduil announced in mock unhappiness. Gandalf immediately had all attention upon Thranduil.

"A feast? For what occasion?"

"Are you that dull, my old friend?" Thranduil exclaimed with a grin. Gandalf grumbled something under his breath. "It is to celebrate the return of the realm's most loved prince."

"He is your _only_ prince, if I may remind you," Gandalf muttered, but his eyes were twinkling. Thranduil smiled, having easily heard the wizard's muttered words.

"But he alone of all deserves a feast held in his honor, along with the one who brought him back to the light," Thranduil continued more solemnly, looking pointedly at Gandalf. A kind, appreciative smile spread across the wizard's face, but a sudden thought struck him and his eyes twinkled.

"Are you being serious about honoring me at your feast, or are you only inviting me for my skill with fireworks?"

XXXXXXXXXXXX

The _palantîr _slowly flickered before the light died out in its gleaming center, the wizard and Elven-king fading from sight. The dark figure peering into it turned away with a sly smile, his eyes gleaming with anticipation.

"Good, very good," the figure hissed. "I was afraid that we would lose him. But thanks to the wizard, we won't need you anymore, Rorzaug."

A hunched figure in the shadows snarled angrily. "You promised me the king, you filthy, lying traitor!" He growled.

The figure laughed and Rorzaug glared at him, but wisely did not say anything. "Rorzaug, my dear Rorzaug," he ran a hand along the marred and twisted face and neck of the Orc, who hissed under his breath in protest of the icy touch. The dark, cloaked figure's eyes hardened suddenly, cold and terrible. "What was it that you called me?"

"No-nothing, my…my lord," Rorzaug stammered. He bowed hastily before the towering figure, kissing the cold, hard floor at the feet of his master.

"Oh, good. I thought you said something else. But now, my dear Rorzaug, I have a better use for you. I am sure you are familiar with the lands around the caverns of the enemy, am I correct?"

"Yes…my…lord, yes indeed," Rorzaug peeked up at him curiously. He slowly began to rise to his feet.

"Very good," the dark one murmured. He reached down and hauled the Orc up. "You will travel there, alone, and station yourself near the palace. You will know when I need you to act. You certainly will have not forgotten your mark."

Rorzaug could not help but glance at the crude symbol of an eye carved into his chest that he along with all others possessed under the dominion of his lord. "No, my lord."

"Good. You will fire this arrow when I tell you to. You will strike no one; this arrow is not intended for Elf flesh. Make sure it is seen by a sentry or the Elf prince himself. Then you will return immediately. I will know if you tarry to kill some unfortunate beast, so take care not to be late or you will find yourself in the hands of your own men for sport." The dark one gave Rorzaug an arrow with a piece of folded parchment shoved onto the shaft, ignoring the slight glare the Orc gave him at the order not to kill.

"You leave tonight."

The figure seized him by the scruff of the neck and tossed him from the room, the iron door slamming shut with a clang behind him. He chuckled at his servant's grumbling and heavy steps that could be heard even through the thick black door and turned back to the _palantîr._ His eyes were aglow with hunger and greed.

"It is nearly time," he hissed.

XXXXXXXXXXXX

"**The feast that they now saw was greater and more magnificent than before; and at the head of a long line of feasters sat a woodland king with a crown of leaves upon his golden hair, very much as Bombur had described the figure in his dream. The elvish-folk were passing bowls from hand to hand and across the fires, and some were harping and many were singing. Their gleaming hair was twined with flowers; green and white gems glinted on their collars and their belts; and their faces and their songs were filled with mirth. Loud and clear and fair were those songs…"**

**-The Hobbit by J.R.R. Tolkien, page 153**

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It was on the thirtieth of _Hrívë_, the twentieth day of December (or Foreyule) in the Shire, that the grandest feast in many _yén_ was held in Thranduil's realm. Outside under the bright moon and starlight, the Elves were gathered for their merrymaking, their spirits bright and joyous. Among them was their young prince, glowing and basking in the happiness about him. Tonight would be host to one of the greatest feasts in the Woodland Realm's history, second perhaps only to the marriage of a then very young and love-struck king and a beautiful maiden or the birth of the first child in the royal family. Nonetheless, it would be a night to remember.

There was suddenly an explosion of light in the air, and gasps and surprised cries were uttered throughout. Smoke curled about a gray-cloaked man that stepped from behind his cart, laughing.

"Mithrandir!" A fair voice called. Many heads turned to the speaker, and then bowed low as the speaker strode past with a child in his arms. "I pray you, give us warning next time! You about frightened the poor child out of his mind!"

Gandalf's laughing died away, and he looked with raised eyebrows at the boy in the Woodland King's arms. The little one was clutching at Thranduil's neck, but loosened his hold when he felt the wizard's gentle, rough fingers stroke his back.

"Scare you, did I?"

Legolas pulled away from his father, gazing at Gandalf with wide eyes. He quickly shook his head.

"No!" Legolas protested, but a guilty look spread across his face, and he looked away. Legolas reached for Gandalf, and the Elfling was transferred from the father to the wizard. Giggling when Gandalf's bushy beard tickled his face, Legolas leaned close to the wizard's ear.

"I am sorry, I committed a un-waffle act in lying to you, because lying is treachery," The immortal prince whispered. Gandalf frowned, his bushy eyebrows raised.

"You mean unlawful?"

"Yes."

"And where did you hear that from?" Gandalf asked curiously, glancing suspiciously at Thranduil. The king's eyes were locked upon his child with amusement and pride.

"I heard _Ada_ say it to some _Edain_ that lied about their purpose in our forest, when he punished them for trees-…truss-…"

"Trespassing," Thranduil provided.

"And what did you lie about, little one?" Gandalf asked.

Legolas bowed his head shamefully. "I told you I was not scared of your fireworks, and I lied because I was indeed scared of them." He looked up, his eyes wide and humble. "Do you forgive me, Gandalf?"

Gandalf chuckled deep in his chest. He patted the little Elf's head. "Of course I do, my prince."

Thranduil smiled warmly at his son. "I am proud of you, Legolas. You asked for forgiveness even on a trivial matter, and even some of the Elven-lords will never be so humble and honest such as you are now."

Legolas beamed. "Thank you, _Ada_," he said brightly, his eyes sparkling happily. Suddenly he turned around, looking at the wizard hopefully. "Mithrandir?"

"Yes?"

"Will you shoot off more fireworks, please?"

Gandalf laughed, and stroked the little one's hair. "Of course! A feast would not be a feast without fireworks!" With that, he set the child down. A sudden thought came to Thranduil, and calling for silence he stood tall and addressed his people as they became silent.

"My people, many of you will know that we have planned a great surprise for my son, Legolas," Thranduil began warmly. There were many nods and soft laughter at his words. "Shall we give him his gift?"

There was a chorus of applause, and Legolas beamed while searching anxiously through the crowd for packages or parcels that could possibly contain his gift. Thranduil glanced down at him, smiling broadly.

"Legolas, I am going to cover your eyes while they bring your gift forward, understand?" Thranduil told him as he placed his strong, gentle hands over the Elfling's eyes. Legolas nodded, trembling with excitement. Once Thranduil was sure that he could not see, he motioned for someone to come forward. A figure emerged from the crowd, tall and majestic, and swept back the hood of his cloak to reveal a curtain of dark silk that hung in shimmering locks about the gentle, weary-yet-proud face. The Elf was smiling softly, his eyes glistening with tears already.

"Are you ready, _ion-nín_?"

"Yes!" Legolas cried excitedly. Thranduil smiled, and removed his hands. Legolas' eyes snapped open and immediately lighted upon the figure that stood before him. Recognizing him immediately, Legolas let out a gasp, his eyes widening.

"IMRATHON!"

Indeed, it was the Elf who stood before him. A broad smile broke out on the dark-haired one's face, and the ex-captain swung the child into his arms. The wizard and the king watched in joy as the two friends were reunited since being apart for a month after Imrathon had left for Rivendell, and the realm's people broke into warm applause at the sight. Legolas was hugging Imrathon tightly, tears streaming down his face. Imrathon's eyes were closed, and he whispered soft, gentle words to Legolas while stroking the little one's back.

"Imrathon! Im, I thought you were gone forever!" Legolas wept, his tears ones of joy.

Imrathon smiled faintly. "No, I was not gone forever," he murmured, his voice soft and warm. It felt so good to hear the ex-captain's voice again, his soft-spoken words and ringing laughter came flooding back to Legolas, along with memories of the captain's screams.

"Imrathon…you were hurt…I saw him hurt you," Legolas sobbed suddenly, and Imrathon did not know that it was not the captain of the Orcs that he spoke of.

"I know, child. But I'm here, and I am all right, you see?" He told him quietly, managing a weak smile on his pale face. He had changed so much in Legolas' eyes; he was now paler, weaker, thinner, and almost all light was extinguished in his eyes. He was only a shell of what he once was, an empty, lifeless husk.

_Like I was._

Legolas smiled faintly. "Yes, you are right, Im. I missed you terribly."

Imrathon hugged him tightly. "I missed you, too, child," he wept softly in return. "I missed you, too."

"Promise you won't ever leave me like you did?"

Imrathon froze. His thoughts flashed to Valinor, of sailing and leaving the shores forever. _I cannot linger here; no longer will I find peace under the trees of my home._ But he was unable to speak these words to Legolas. The warmth and brightness of the fires dimmed, and the shadows threatened to overtake all. The sound of the Elves going back to their songs and merrymaking faded, replaced by his pounding heartbeat. Tears came unbidden to his eyes, and the words caught in his throat, lingering there and forming a hard lump. He swallowed several times.

"Legolas…" he began uncertainly, meeting the child's eyes with reluctance. The immortal prince gazed back up at him patiently, concern flickering across his face briefly at his hesitation.

In that moment Thranduil intervened, drawing Legolas from his friend's arms. "_Tithen-pen,_ some of the elders are beginning their story-telling, and I am sure one of them would be pleased to tell you about your _daeradar+_," he told him easily, a forced smile upon his face. Legolas brightened immediately.

"Yes, sir!"

Happily he skipped off, bounding for the far corner of the clearing where many Elves had gathered, all sitting upon the earth and gazing expectantly up at the Elves that were speaking. Legolas plopped himself down in one of the speakers' laps and elicited smiles and merry laughs as the speaker patted his back and shifted to make the eager child more comfortable. Thranduil turned back to Imrathon with a smile, but it faded quickly when he met Imrathon's eyes.

"You still wish to sail?" Thranduil asked abruptly, but spoke his words cautiously and softly.

Imrathon glanced away, his head bowing in a short nod. He sighed wearily. "Indeed."

Thranduil nodded in response, unsure of what to say. He reassuringly clapped a hand on the ex-captain's shoulder.

"It will be all right, Imrathon," he promised softly. Then the Woodland King turned away, and joined his subjects in their merrymaking, leaving Imrathon alone.

XXXXXXXXXXXX

The rest of the evening was celebrated joyously, as the Elves sang and danced merrily with their prince. Food and wine was abundant in their celebrations, and many an Elf found himself consuming Dorwinion by the barrel. But none of them minded.

Fireworks exploded in bright flashes of colorful light in the night sky, accompanied by hearty cheers and light laughing. Fires were lit, illuminating the clearing as if it was daylight, and hundreds of tables were set out to be prepared for the grand feast. Many were harping, and nearly all were singing under the starlight, and not once was there uttered a sad, somber song, for tonight was a night for celebration. Imrathon and Legolas were inseparable, wandering about enjoying various games and songs, participating eagerly in the merrymaking of their kin. Thranduil watched on with a proud heart as his child laughed and smiled again, his eyes alight and merry. _It is a miracle, this change that has come over him. I am happy for him._

Catching Gandalf's eye, Thranduil nodded towards the feasting table. Gandalf quickly let loose his last firework, and then found himself seated left of Legolas' seat. Thranduil called for attention, raising his hands for silence. The Elves were quiet, gazing with bright eyes towards their fair king. Legolas looked up expectantly, smiling brightly. Thranduil winked at him before beginning.

"_Mellyn-nín_+ we are gathered tonight to celebrate a momentous occasion: the return of our crowned prince, my son, Legolas."

The clearing erupted into noble applause, warm smiles upon many of the Elves' faces. Thranduil held his hand up in a signal for silence. "But alas, such a miracle did not come without a price. We lost many in an attack by the enemy upon the _taur-maethor_ as they searched for him, and we grieve their losses still. Lord Imrathon was wounded terribly in defense of the child before he was captured, and Lord Taidîr also sustained injuries in the battle against the enemy. We grieve for them, and the families of the dead, for they were willing to give up their immortality to save the Crowned Prince of the Woodland Realm."

A somber silence followed, interrupted only by the soft crackling of the fires. Many eyes came to rest upon the still figure of Imrathon, who did not look up and meet their eyes. His heart was pounding in his ears as he was suddenly swept back to that autumn evening, when there had been so many screams, so much pain, and that terrible whip…Thranduil's voice brought him back, and gratefully he looked up at his king, clinging onto the distraction that caused him to leap back into the present.

"…But it has been too long since we have last been merry and joyous once again, so now I wish to honor those who have given us what we needed back most, what I had lost, what we had all lost," Thranduil announced, his dark emerald eyes flickering across the faces of his kin, his friends, his warriors, his people. He turned to Imrathon, who sat tall and noble even in his weakened and weary state. Thranduil raised his goblet in salute. "To Lord Imrathon, for desiring nothing more than the welfare of my child and who nearly gave his life to protect him."

Imrathon stood, inclining his head towards king, but his eyes were twinkling in appreciation, a weak smile crossing his face. He too picked up his cup and held it high.

"To Captain Taidîr, for leading his men with honor and pride, and for stepping forward as supreme commander in our realm's time of need, even as his heart did not desire the position."

Taidîr also stood, bowing low to Thranduil and glancing at Imrathon briefly. The ex-captain smiled at him encouragingly.

"To all those that were wounded, died, or accompanied Lord Taidîr on the mission that I deemed impossible, I extend my utmost gratitude and thanks, for without you my child would not have been returned-"

"And you would not have use for my fireworks!" Gandalf called out abruptly, his eyes twinkling. Several of the Elves chuckled, smiling at the wizard. Thranduil broke out into a grin, glancing at the Istar briefly. The warriors who had traveled to find Legolas stood, stifling laughter.

"Of course, Mithrandir, who could not forget your fireworks," The king said merrily. He soon cleared his throat and gazed down upon his people with seriousness once again.

"To my people, for having hope even as I did not," Thranduil announced softly, looking at Daernesta and Saeldur for a moment before turning his head to gaze upon his subjects. They bowed their heads in recognition of his indirect praise.

"And to Mithrandir, for he was the one who brought back what I truly had missed, what we had lost, what we needed the most," Thranduil finished, his eyes sparkling in admiration as his gaze came to rest on the wizard. Gandalf winked at him, but stood, and as one the Elves and one wizard brought their goblets to their lips and drank to those saluted.

"What did he give back to you, _Ada_?" a small voice suddenly asked, full of curiosity. Thranduil turned with a smile to his child and drew him into his arms, planting a kiss in Legolas' golden hair.

"He gave me, and the entire realm, back its happiness, light, joy, and love. And most of all, its innocence," Thranduil explained, his voice gentle and sincere. His people gazed upon him fondly, their eyes and smiles warm and full of admiration. Legolas screwed up his face in thought.

"But _Ada_, where do you get that kind of present? I don't think I have ever gotten a gift like that," Legolas asked him, frowning. The Elves watched with smiles upon their faces, in awe of the child's innocence and simplicity. Thranduil smiled at his son.

"This gift cannot come in a package, or a box, or a bag, but it comes in the form of a person."

"What kind of person?"

The Elves were chuckling lightly now at the Legolas' unending curiosity.

"A child," Thranduil told him, gazing at his son with nothing less than complete love and awe.

"Like me?" Legolas asked in surprise.

"Yes, just like you," Thranduil said quietly, brushing a stray wisp of fine golden hair out of Legolas' face. The prince did not pick up on it, but the subjects of Thranduil certainly did – Thranduil was truly speaking of Legolas. The child tipped his head to side, studying his father intently.

"What is the child's name? Can I meet him? Where is he from?" Legolas asked excitedly. Thranduil laughed lightly at his son's antics, but gentle pride glimmered in his eyes.

"His name is Legolas."

Legolas frowned.

"But that's me…" Legolas began, confused. Thranduil nodded encouragingly.

"Yes, it is you."

There was a pause.

"Are you happy I am myself, then?" Legolas looked up at him, his eyes large and curious. He had obviously made the connection. Thranduil gazed down at him, smiling gently.

"Of course I am, _tithen-pen,_" Thranduil kissed Legolas' forehead lovingly.

"Well, then I am happy too, because you are happy," Legolas smiled cheerfully at his father and threw his arms around his neck. Thranduil at first was taken aback, but closing his eyes he hugged him tight. And slowly, one by one, the Elves all began to stand, their hands coming together to clap, their eyes warm and sparkling at the sight of their joyous king and prince. Within seconds, all the people of the realm were on their feet in applause, and some even began to sing. Tears shone in Imrathon's eyes, but he was smiling and clapping. Gandalf was grinning at Thranduil and Legolas, his eyes twinkling. And still Thranduil held Legolas close, his heart soaring with joy, for now he knew that he would truly be happy, forever and ever, and no shadow, no darkness, no evil could destroy it now.

**TBC**

_

* * *

_

_+daeradar: term I've picked up from several other fan fiction works, literally translates as "great father" but used instead for "grandfather" or "grandsire"_

_+Mellyn-nín: My friends

* * *

_


	24. XXIII: You Have Been Warned

**Mask of Innocence

* * *

Warning: This chapter contains graphic/disturbing imagery. Read with caution.

* * *

**

******Chapter Twenty-three: You Have Been Warned**

XXXXXXXXXXXX

"…**I know there's something in the wake of your smile.**

**I get a notion from the look in your eyes, yeah.**

**You've built a love,**

**But that love falls apart.**

**A little piece of heaven turns to dark…"**

**  
- DHT: "Listen to Your Heart"**

XXXXXXXXXXXX

December expired in a flurry of snowflakes, and January came and went in nothing less than a whirlwind of cold and ice. February was icy and bitter, and soon March came, and the first traces of spring. Warm sunlight brightened every cool morn, gazing down happily upon the flowers and small seedlings as grass struggled to break through the snow. Imrathon lingered still, and his cold body was warmed by the sunlight as his home strove to comfort his troubles, and even though he was certain he would sail his heart was warmed by the spring and the sunlight, and most of all by Legolas.

Day by day throughout the winter Legolas had only grown more like himself, more like the bright Elfling that had left the halls on the autumn morning long ago. He was a blossoming youth, always smiling, and his face was bright and happy like the sun. He was a young shoot, a sapling barely sprung up from the ground, and that itself embodied his light and love. His laughter and excited chatter rang throughout the halls of the Elven-king's realm, echoing under the trees as their song was filled with joy at seeing the prince, and the people of Thranduil were joyous once again, even for the Shadow that grew in the south.

If only they knew how short-lived their joy would be.

It was at dawn that Legolas awoke on the day before _Yestarë_, the Elves' New Year. Bounding out of bed, he rushed into his tunic and leggings, yanked on his soft, supple boots, and bolted down the stairs for the private meal room, where his father already sat. He glanced up from his plate when his Elfling came running in.

"_Mae govannen,_ Legolas."

"_Mae govannen_," Legolas said breathlessly in return. He scrambled into his seat, seized the plate of sweet fruit, warm bread, and honey and began wolfing it down. Thranduil watched in amusement. Imrathon appeared in the doorway behind Legolas, a weak grin spreading across his face. He could not help but remember the excited Elfling that he had taken on a hunting trip who had wolfed down his food in much of the same way when he wished to go swimming.

"Because there are no bodies of water nearby, I assume that you are excited about going for a morning walk with me?"

Legolas whirled around.

"Imrathon!"

The child launched himself at the elder Elf, who caught him easily. "Legolas please do not strangle me like the last time you embraced me," Imrathon managed out as the prince hugged him tightly. The little one quickly released him, and wearily Imrathon sat him down.

"_Goheno nín,_" the prince murmured apologetically.

"_Ú-moe edhored._ Now, finish your meal and we will head out," Imrathon sat down next to the prince's father with a small sigh, closing his eyes briefly before meeting Thranduil's gaze.

"Are you still weary?" Thranduil glanced concernedly up at the Elf, speaking in Elven tongue, mindful of the child who sat directly across from him. Imrathon sighed again, then nodded.

"You will follow the desire of your heart?"

"Yes."

There was a pause in which Thranduil contemplated his next words. But Imrathon spoke first.

"I leave tomorrow."

"_Ada_, why do you speak in Sindarin when I can understand what you are saying?" Legolas broke in, glanced up at his father, and frowned. Thranduil immediately smiled at him, but it was forced.

"It does not matter, _tithen-pen,_ but would I be wrong in assuming that you and Imrathon were about to leave?" Thranduil's eyes twinkled faintly. Legolas choked down the last bit of bread, sprang up (and almost succeeded in knocking his chair over in the process), seized Imrathon's hand, and dragged him from the room.

"_Namárië, Ada!"_ Legolas called over his shoulder. Thranduil waved in goodbye and watched, with his eyes bright, as Imrathon struggled to linger a moment longer to inform Thranduil of something.

"We will stray no father from the path that follows the forest edge, and I pray that I have the strength for where we tread," he announced quickly, his last words cryptic. With a final bow of his head he was whisked out of sight, and the two were gone.

XXXXXXXXXXXX

_There was fire. The trees were burning, the red flames licking at their beautiful golden barks and their bright leaves, the heat curling and scorching the foliage…He passed a pool of water the color of blood as mangled bodies lay strewn through the clearing…The air was heavy with smoke and tasted metallic as screams and cries of anguish filled the air with chaos…_

"_The child will be the cause of this if you do not stop him."_

_The river rushed in front of the palace, dark and murky with blood and bodies as the great fire cast an eerie red glow upon the entire mountainside…The steps were slick with blood and gore…The once dazzling and powerful golden gates now lay in splintered pieces at the ground, revealing the gaping cavern mouth…_

"_If he lives, the Woodland Realm will be destroyed."_

_King Thranduil lay slain in his bedchambers, clutching a knife implanted in his fair flesh even in death…_

"_Your king will be slain, but he will not have been the first loss…"_

"Imrathon, what is wrong?"

Imrathon's eyes flew open, and he gasped, frozen to the spot. Legolas was gazing up at him, concerned.

_The child will be the cause of this if you do not stop him…_

"Imrathon?"

"I am not ill, do not be troubled," he patted the child's head reassuringly, but his mind was elsewhere and his voice was trembling. Legolas did not notice, however, and simply looked back at the trees that they were walking beside, taking the Elf's cold hand in his and continued on. They were strolling slowly on the path that followed the edge of the forest, gazing at the trees and listening to the bright songbirds. Imrathon passed a hand over his face, hiding the look of confusion and shock that remained upon him. It made no sense. Why was he seeing a vision of the future, and who was it that had been speaking to him? Perhaps it had been Galadriel, but another part of him whispered that it was one of the Valar themselves…Sweet Elbereth, if that was the case, Imrathon knew that this vision would indeed come to pass for the Valar knew all.

They were silent for a while as Imrathon pondered the vision deep within his mind and the child watched the forest. Suddenly Legolas spoke up, and broke Imrathon from his thoughts.

"Have you ever been to Aman, Imrathon?" Legolas spoke up quietly, his eyes transfixed upon the trees as they roamed the faint path that lay along the forest edge. Imrathon started slightly at the sudden question, but forced himself to think of the present and answered.

"No, I have not."

"Do you want to go?"

Imrathon hesitated slightly. "Yes," he softly said, slowing his pace as they walked.

"Why?"

The ex-captain smiled gently at the child's sudden demand for answers.

"Every Elf, young or old, possesses the desire to sail in their hearts," Imrathon began to explain, speaking slowly and thoughtfully. "Sooner or later that desire will be discovered, like finding a book hidden back behind all the other books in the library. Those books in the library our like our emotions and experiences in our heart. The book that possesses our desires to sail remain hidden, stowed away until the right time, and sit collecting dust until we finally stumble across it.

"To discover this 'book', some experience terrible events, or are hurt very badly and cannot be healed and that is when they decide to sail, so they can seek eternal happiness and rest, while others simply grow weary of living in Arda."

Legolas appeared greatly puzzled. "So I can find my desire to sail in _Ada_'s library?" He looked up at Imrathon, confused.

"No, child, you cannot. Instead you find it here," Imrathon touched the area above Legolas' heart.

Legolas nodded understandingly. "But why do _you_ want to leave, Imrathon?" He asked curiously.

Imrathon felt his heart skip a beat. A knot formed in his stomach, and the words caught in his throat. _He must know, Imrathon. He will have to learn eventually. _He franticly tried to find the right words, the ones he had gone over and over as he had contemplated how he would tell the child, but they seemed to have disappeared. Legolas did not see the battle of emotions behind Imrathon's eyes, and instead turned and kept walking, thinking that his friend did not know why he wanted to sail. Abruptly, Legolas threw his arms around his waist and hugged him tight.

"I do not want you to leave too soon, Imrathon," Legolas' arms curled around the ex-captain's slender waist, hugging him closer. Imrathon slowly drew his arms around the child, closing his eyes to stop the tears.

"I am afraid that I cannot linger here any longer, Legolas," he whispered to him. Legolas pulled back in confusion.

"What?" Legolas looked up at him, frowning. "What do you speak of when you say that?"

Imrathon knelt down and looked the child in the eye, his own eyes full of anguish.

"I leave to sail for Aman tomorrow."

Legolas shook his head disbelievingly. "No, you aren't. You are jesting."

Imrathon let a tearful laugh slip out. "If only I was. Nay, I am speaking the truth."

Legolas stared at him in shock. "No…please, Imrathon…" He appeared on the verge of tears suddenly, and a look of grief and horror slid across his face. "You're leaving me again, like you did when they hurt you…"

Imrathon tensed, and he clutched Legolas close to him very quickly. "No, Valar no, I would never leave you like that. Not again. I cannot stay here, Legolas, please, try to understand this. It hurts me terribly; you need to let me go."

"No! Imrathon…please, stay here…"

Imrathon felt tears slip down his face.

"I cannot, my child, I just cannot."

Legolas began to sob in his arms, his tiny body shaking with grief. Imrathon hugged him tight, tears of his own trickling down his face. He closed his eyes and kissed Legolas' temple. "We will see each other again, I promise," he whispered shakily, eyes still shut tightly. Legolas nodded weakly into his chest before burying his head again into his shoulder.

Suddenly Legolas drew in his breath sharply. Imrathon glanced at him, a look of concern crossing his face.

"Legolas?"

The prince's head shot up as if he had just realized someone else was with him. He had his hand pressed to the center of his chest, and a grimace marred his features.

"'Tis nothing, just a healing scar," he offered in explanation quickly, but Imrathon did not believe him.

"One of your scars as not yet healed?" Imrathon frowned. "Let me see it, Legolas."

Reluctantly, Legolas slowly unfastened his tunic as Imrathon knelt down to see Legolas' hurting scar. What he saw made him gasp aloud. He had seen this mark before, on the Orcs that had whipped him. They had it imprinted upon their faces, their armor, their banners…

"The mark of Sauron," Imrathon breathed, his eyes wide. He dared not reach out and touch the inflamed and blackened scar. "Have you told your father about this?" he demanded.

Legolas shook his head. "No."

"You must tell him, Legolas. This mark, the Dark Lord gave it to you, did he not?"

Legolas nodded his head weakly, avoiding Imrathon's sharp gaze.

"This mark means that you are under his rule, do you understand? You must tell your father immediately!" Imrathon ordered, grasping Legolas' shoulders firmly. The child stared at him, tears beginning to fill his eyes. "Legolas, what did he do when he gave this to you!"

"He…he…he chanted a spell….after he…cut me…" Legolas managed out, his voice trembling as badly as his body was.

Imrathon stared at him. "Holy Valar, he could be using you, gaining a body through yours…Sweet Elbereth, it is not possible…" Imrathon trailed off, gazing horrorstruck at Legolas.

Without warning, there was a sudden explosion of pain in the mark on Legolas' chest. He cried out, falling from Imrathon's grasp and to the mossy ground. Imrathon hurriedly bent over him.

"Legolas!"

_You have betrayed me…and now he will suffer…_

But in that instant, Imrathon suddenly shuddered, a dull ache spreading throughout him as he sat up. Frowning, he stiffened slightly and touched his back, and his hand came back dripping with blood. His whipping wounds were reappearing, their old scars splitting open, pouring warm blood down his shirt. The warmth of the blood would be the last he felt before the pain.

Searing heat and white-hot agony were suddenly coursing through his veins. A red haze spread over his eyes, and he collapsed, squeezing his eyes shut.

_It is coming back…the seizures…the cries…the pain…no…not again…_

Then Imrathon screamed.

Legolas jerked back upwards, forgetting the burning sensation on his chest. He watched on in horror as Imrathon's cries filled the air, shattering the tranquil silence. This figure before him, it could not be Imrathon. It could not be. He was so pale, lying their helpless as he writhed and screeched in pain. His dark hair lay shimmering in the sunlight. The soft gray eyes were so beautiful, but this time instead of warmth they were filled with anguish.

The cries escalated into a single scream, high and ear-splitting. Legolas sat back, frozen still as his friend lay in terrible pain. His thrashings suddenly seemed to weaken, his cries more desperate and yet fainter. The ex-captain gave one last desperate whimper of agony, and then he lay still.

As soon as Imrathon stopped moving, it was Legolas' turn to scream.

"_Imrathon!_"

He leapt forward, leaning over the captain, and seized his shoulders. "Imrathon!"

Imrathon did not move. His eyes stared straight upwards, a look of anguish and agony permanently etched upon his face, his mouth slightly agape as a thin trickle of blood gathered at his lips. Legolas shook Imrathon anxiously, but there was no response. A chilly wind suddenly whipped up from the south, and dark clouds began to block out the sun. Whimpering and trembling like mad, Legolas clutched at Imrathon anxiously. "Imrathon, wake up! Wake up!"

But Imrathon did not move.

"Imrathon?"

Tears of frustration gathered in Legolas' eyes. "Imrathon? You must wake, a storm is coming!" Still no response. "Imrathon! Please, we have to go home now! You said I needed to talk to Ada about the scar, and it will begin to rain soon. Imrathon? Imrathon! Wake up!"

But Imrathon would not move. "Please! _Saes, mellon-nín,_ wake up!" Legolas' voice broke, and he drew a shaky breath as his heart suddenly clenched.

_Maybe he is dead._

"No!"

Legolas collapsed over his friend, unable to believe what his heart told him. "No! It's not true…you can't be…it's not possible…NO!"

He had seen Imrathon do this before. It all came back to him now. He had seen him scream, writhe in his bed, the bandages tearing and pulling apart as his thrashing escalated…

_The palantîr flickered to life as Sauron turned to it, dragging Legolas with him. Imrathon was lying quietly, but abruptly a scream burst from his lips and his back arched. He began to claw at the sheets and twisted himself in them, writhing in pain. His screams echoed throughout the room. Legolas was silent, watching in horror as his friend cried out in horrible pain._

"_It takes a total of six drops to kill, Legolas," Sauron hissed in his ear. The scene faded away, the orange glow that had been cast in the room enveloped by darkness. _

"_Six drops to kill…"_

_Six drops to kill…_

_Kill…_

_Kill…_

_KILL…_

"NOOOO!"

A black arrow suddenly was shot from the trees, and it struck the ground quivering, a piece of parchment pinned to the ground with it. Seizing it, Legolas tore it open, but with a faint gasp it fluttered to the ground.

_You have been warned._

Legolas' head whipped towards the forest, where the arrow had been shot from. Menacing yellow eyes glowed from the darkness, and then disappeared. The prince whimpered out of fright and shrank closer to Imrathon's body as if he could protect him even now.

Legolas picked up the paper with trembling hands again, and his eyes widened suddenly. It was with an anguished cry that he realized who this was from and who had done this to Imrathon, for a design was drawn upon the paper beneath the message. It was the same design as that of the hurting scar upon the prince's chest. Legolas collapsed over Imrathon's body, hugging the cold form tightly as lightning flickered across the sky and thunder rumbled in the distance, dark clouds moving in with the gusts of wind.

And as Legolas' first tears began to fall, so did the first raindrops come falling from the sky.

**TBC**

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_And you thought it was over, huh? Alas, this is not the case, for this is not the end. An another conflict has just blossomed, and poor Legolas is caught in the middle of it..._

_until our next meeting,_

_-ArcherGal2932_


	25. XXIV: The Halls of Mandos

**Mask of Innocence**

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**Chapter Twenty-four: The Halls of Mandos**

Guards swarmed Legolas, many trying to pull him away from the dead body only moments later. The grief-stricken prince did not hear them as they shot down the Orc that had penetrated their borders, the one who had fired the arrow with the message; he did not hear their cries of anguish upon seeing the body of their previous captain lying sprawled in the rain, mouth agape; he did not see their tears as they turned to the sky and cursed the Valar for bringing death upon one of their kin; he did not listen as they begged him to leave, to flee from this place where memories would be left forever, where his heart would remain, where Imrathon had died.

Legolas only saw the dead body of his best friend, the brother he never had, the ex-captain of the armed forces, the teacher, the student, his father's closest ally. And even when he heard his father's shout, he did not move from his spot, but only began to cry harder.

Thranduil had nearly collapsed when he found his young son sobbing over the dead body of Imrathon, rain drenching them both as lightning flashed in the dark sky. He had gathered his hysterical son into his arms, parchment clenched in his hand, and Thranduil stared in disbelief at the friend he had cherished who lay dead before him, not hearing the crashes of thunder that grew ever louder. Imrathon's eyes were wide open, his mouth slightly agape in a scream that never ended, his flesh white as snow and as cold as ice. He was frozen still, a small puddle of red merging with the rain around him as his blood drained through the open wounds in his back.

"We have to save him! He's not dead, _Ada_, he's just asleep!" Legolas cried desperately, his voice rough and frantic as he thrashed in Thranduil's arms, trying to get loose. He was begging his father to tell him that Imrathon was not dead, that what he had seen was not of _his_ making, that he had not been poisoned with what he knew he had…

The king numbly held his son tighter, stilling his movements. His eyes briefly closed, and when they opened there were tears glistening in his eyes. He did not see his own guards run past him to merge with the sentries that had already arrived, or hear Taidîr collapse in the mud and let out a choked cry, or see them surround his dead friend and struggle to find any sign of life. Thranduil knew even before one of the guards had gazed up at him with a grim, mournful face and had turned back to Taidîr. Thranduil knew without looking at Taidîr, who had gone ashen-faced and sat staring at his captain, the Elf that had given him the strength and will to become the realm's captain, that Imrathon was gone.

"No, Legolas. You cannot save him now," Thranduil hushed him, his voice remarkably calm and soft. Legolas broke down sobbing in his father's robes.

_No…it was not him…he could not have returned…no…no, no, no, NO!_

"Imrathon is dead."

An anguished wail could be heard from the Woodland King's child as the rain only fell harder, as his worst fears were realized and the world as he knew it came crashing down. The words of the message flashed in his mind as suddenly as the lightning that struck miles away.

_You have been warned._

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_April 11th, 2063 – fifteen days later_

Thoughts swirled in Legolas' mind wildly, surfacing in the forms as daggers, fire, ice, darkness, and Sauron.

"_You are being a very good little Elfling, Legolas…"_

Red, fiery eyes gleamed from the darkness before they faded from sight, and in a flash Legolas saw a glimpse of the dark towers of Dol Guldar.

"_Who are you! What are you doing in my mind!"_

"_I've always been here, little one, and I always will be," _returned the menacing voice sweetly.

"_No, you haven't!"_

Although he could not see it, Legolas felt Sauron smile.

"_Yes, I have. Now, be a good little boy and do not tell your little father a word of the way your friend died. Understand? I am sure you are clever enough to have figured what happened, am I correct?"_

Thoughts of Imrathon's death came to him, each one with his friend's dead body lying there in the rain.

"_No…it is impossible…you cannot…I…"_

"_Child, whether you believe it or not Imrathon is dead, and it is your fault," _the voice broke in harshly. No longer was it sweet and gentle._ "He knew too much. If you tell your father, or anyone else, about anything that happened I will kill them. You have been warned."_

"Legolas?"

With a cry Legolas sat bolt upright. He was sitting in the soft chair by the window, having drifted to sleep accidentally. The Valar knew he had gotten almost no sleep in the past two weeks, that he had locked himself in his room and had sat there and cried for hours at a time. He looked around anxiously. There was no dark, hissing voice, no cloaked figure, no chanting…

Someone touched his shoulder, and he whirled around to find Thranduil standing there. "It is time, little one."

Legolas briefly nodded, forcing the nightmare from his mind and got up, heading towards his wardrobe after glancing at his father's attire first. Thranduil's robes were a very dark green, almost black, and were adorned with the realm's crest of leaves. His golden crown entwined with springtime flowers had been exchanged for a simple gold circlet, noble yet elegant. He wore no light and festive colors this day.

Without a word Legolas shrugged into his best robes, a deep forest green instead of his normal silvers and blues while his father brushed his hair with his ivory comb. He plaited the silky pale-gold hair in several braids easily and then added the final touch with the beautiful silver circlet upon his brow. Now complete, Legolas followed Thranduil out of his bedroom and outside, where the rest of the realm was waiting.

It was nearly dusk on this clear evening, only a fortnight after Imrathon's death. Silence hung over the golden heads of Thranduil's people, only a few singing softly as they lamented the death of their prince and king's great friend and the realm's greatest captain. The forest whispered of pain and grief, their sorrow mirroring that of its people, and most of all they sang of their worry for the prince. Legolas heard the forest's lamentation, and the worry for himself, but he did not care. He could feel it in his heart that he was slowly slipping away again. The forest's _faer_ was fading, his father and friends beginning to blur into faceless masks, his happiness and love draining steadily. And he knew that no happiness of the forest, no magic, no love could save him now.

It was with utmost silence and grief that Thranduil and Gandalf descended the palace steps that led to the courtyard, oblivious to the growing peril that the child beside them was in. The entire realm was gathered in the forest, on the bridge, in the courtyard, wherever there was room for them to stand and watch the burial of one of their kin. They had been told that it was uncertain why and how Imrathon died, for only Legolas had been there when his immortal flame had been extinguished so abruptly. And Legolas was not going to tell anyone, no matter how much it mattered.

"_Ada_?"

Thranduil turned to the owner of the soft, shaky voice next to him. Legolas was looking up at him, eyes wide and full.

"Where will Imrathon go, now that he is dead?"

"He will go to the Halls of Mandos, _tithen-pen,_ in Aman," Thranduil squeezed his child's hand gently, talking very softly.

"So he will go to Valinor?"

"Yes."

"That is good, Imrathon will be happy."

Thranduil turned to Legolas, a puzzled look crossing his face for an instant. "Yes, he will be. But why do you say that?"

Legolas looked up at his father. "He told me that he wanted to go to Aman, and now he can," Legolas said simply, and turned back to face the path that they followed with a heavy heart.

Thranduil gazed down at his child with a mixture of sorrow and pride; grieving that his son had to witness death at such a young age yet proud of and awed at his innocence.

Legolas stared at the faces of his father's people when he passed them. He saw their grief, their pain, their sorrow, and even their tears. Taidîr was there, standing tall but with paths of silver tears running down his cheeks. Saeldur was there, and Daernesta, and Aradan, and everyone else of the royal court and council. All were silent, watching gravely as their comrade and friend was borne upon a stretcher-like bed from the great golden gates of the palace.

Slowly and carefully the warriors entrusted with bearing their captain to his final resting place bore the cot laden with flowers down the steps. Now quiet weeping could be heard echoing throughout the silence of the evening, broken only by the occasional mournful twitter of a bird. Legolas saw the body and faltered, feeling his heart quicken with a sudden pang. Thranduil gently squeezed his hand reassuringly, and led him on.

Thranduil and Legolas stood near the front of the procession, watching as the body was carried slowly down the long stretch of steps. The Elves were singing a lament, remembering the great captain and his many great deeds in life. They sang of his death, a death apparently painful and slow, but without a purpose. Legolas bowed his head silently, tears coming unbidden to his eyes.

_You do not know what happened. I killed him. I am a murderer. It was me. He died because of me…_

Legolas broke into silent sobs abruptly, and comfortingly Thranduil picked him up and drew him close, hushing him gently. Tears of his own sparkled in his eyes, but he kept walking towards his friend's grave, tall and proud. Grief may claim his heart, but it would not claim his body. The deceased was slowly lowered into the fresh grave, and Legolas turned around as the Elven voices rose in a soft crescendo, waiting for the body to finish its descent to the bottom of the grave. Before his friend's body sank beneath the surface as they lowered him down, Legolas caught a glimpse of him; he lay outstretched, his head crowned with silver, and dressed in a light blue robe. His cold hands were clasped upon his chest, with his head lying upon a light pillow. Imrathon's eyes were closed, but Legolas would have sworn that he could have only been sleeping. Thranduil gently set Legolas down, and the child walked tentatively over to his friend who lay at the bottom of a dark, earthen grave.

Legolas gazed down upon his dead friend as the Elves slowly covered his body with the rich soil, not shedding a tear even as his hands were clutched at his sides so tightly that his fingernails dug into his palm. He no longer heard the Elven laments as everyone soon joined in farewell. Only when Imrathon's face was finally covered, and his body returned to that which he loved most as one of the Elven race, did Legolas weep. Sinking to the ground, the prince buried his face into his hands, crying openly for the friend that he had lost, the brother he had inadvertently killed. He did not hear as the laments slowly died away, moving to continue in the trees of their home as one by one the people disappeared into the night, their voices barely to be heard above the light breeze that filtered through the forest.

_I have killed him. I killed Imrathon. Sauron is back. He still has power over me, and over my friends and father. Valar, help me…he's taken Imrathon away from me…what if he takes Ada? What if Ada dies? Valar, please, watch over my Ada. He cannot die. Saes, I love Ada very much…But if I tell him what is happening to me, Ada will die…like Imrathon…he will die if I tell him…I told Imrathon, and he was killed…no…I cannot tell him, ever…not if I want him to live…_

Without knowing it Legolas had somehow found his father's embrace and was now sobbing uncontrollably into Thranduil's shoulder. If only Thranduil knew that it was not out of grief that Legolas wept, but out of terror.

**TBC

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	26. XXV: Fire & Ice

**Mask of Innocence**

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_Muchas gracias_ to all reviewers, past and new (thanks so much **Faerlas** & **Elven hope**!) My review count has now gone beyond _cien!_ (that's 100 for all of you who don't speak Spanish...at least it should be one-hundred...) lol. Again, _hannon le!_

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**Chapter Twenty-five: Fire & Ice**

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"…**Seeing you, it kills me now,  
No, I don't cry on the outside anymore…"**

**-Kelly Clarkson: "Behind These Hazel Eyes"**

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Dawn greeted a cold, silent Elfling every day for the next month. Legolas' appearances outside his bedroom grew more and more rare, his food remained untouched, and his flesh stretched thin over his bones as he ate little or nothing, refused to leave his bed, and grew weaker every day. The horrible reality that Sauron had killed Imrathon was slowly destroying him. Piece by piece, day by day, his heart broke, shattering like glass a little more with each terrible thought or vision of his father screaming, writhing in agony upon his study floor, and suddenly go still like Imrathon had the day before the festival of the New Year. It was small consolation that his father had not been poisoned like Imrathon had, so he would not die a terrible death like his friend had suffered, but it did not matter. Legolas was certain that Sauron would find a way to kill his father, and that he would not rest until the mighty king lay dead.

The prince felt himself slipping away. His spirit was waning, his heart faltering; it would not be long before one morn he simply did not wake. Grief was suffocating him, not only grief for his friend's death but for his father and dead mother, for they had been cursed with a child who would later be the cause of a loyal friend, captain, and subject's death. And Legolas knew, deep in his heart, that Sauron wanted him for more than Imrathon's death.

Legolas knew that Imrathon's abrupt loss was only a warning. Sauron used the noble captain's body for his evil ways, to show that he had not left Legolas' life. And the very thought that Sauron was still there to haunt him terrified Legolas. The prince knew that it was only a matter of time before Sauron gained the advantage he needed and the right moment came to him, and then he would strike out. And then Thranduil would die.

So far it only seemed logical that Thranduil would be killed. Sauron had already taken Imrathon away, a person that was dearer than life itself to Legolas. But if he took Thranduil…Valar, it would kill him, and Legolas knew it.

Sauron had told him when he was imprisoned that he, Legolas, belonged to him. But it made no sense; _how could I belong to someone? Am I not a free man, or Elf, for that matter?_ But it probably mattered not to Sauron, and Legolas had a sickening feeling that he would know the true meaning behind the Dark Lord's words soon, very soon.

But suddenly he remembered very clearly Imrathon's words were when he learned that Legolas bore the scar.

"_This mark means that you are under his rule, do you understand? You must tell your father immediately!" Imrathon ordered, grasping Legolas' shoulders firmly. The child stared at him, tears beginning to fill his eyes. "Legolas, what did he do when he gave this to you!"_

"_He…he…he chanted a spell….after he…cut me…" Legolas managed out, his voice trembling as badly as his body was._

_Imrathon stared at him. "Holy Valar, he could be using you, gaining a body through yours…Sweet Elbereth, it is not possible…"_

Legolas was sure Imrathon was wrong. There was no way in Arda Sauron could inhabit his body. He could not remember a single instance of that happening. Surely he would have known, and he would have felt the Dark Lord filling up his body and driving him from his flesh…

There was a gentle knock on Legolas' bedroom door. The child did not stir, but instead rolled over to face the balcony doors and put his back to the door. He heard the soft creak of the door opening and detected his father's royal, noble presence coming close. Legolas shut his eyes tightly, stifling tears. He hated the fact that his father came in and kept trying to learn what was wrong. He told him every time that he could not tell him, but his father had to be so stubborn and refuse to listen. Today would be harder, Legolas knew. Thranduil would try to push him, and make him tell. He would not just leave like he had done before; he would go down with a fight. _Ai,_ if only he knew that Legolas could not tell him, not if he wanted to live.

The bed shifted slightly as the Woodland King sat down by his child, gazing down with a mixture of pain and sorrow in his beautiful emerald eyes that glittered like the gems in his vaults. Thranduil's hand gently caressed the prince's back, rubbing circles into the tense muscles in an effort to relax him. He did not speak, but instead sat there and watched his son as Legolas sank more fully into the pillows and blankets, his body relaxing through the tears that spilled forth silently and the comforting, healing presence of his father.

"Every day that I enter here, you weep. Why is this, _tithen-pen_?" Thranduil gazed sadly at his child, a little Elfling who should not have experienced this much grief at such an early age. "Why do you weep? Does my presence upset you?"

Legolas slowly rolled over, tears glistening in his fair sapphire eyes. "I love you, _Ada_," Legolas whispered. He reached for his father's hand, his own so small and cold compared to the king's strong, warm fingers. "That is why I weep."

Thranduil looked at him with confusion and worry flickering across his features. In times before, Legolas had never spoken to him. He had remained mute and heartbroken, lying there with tears slipping down his small fair face. "Are you afraid to love me?" he asked softly, his voice barely louder than a whisper as if he was afraid of his child's answer.

"Yes," came the weak reply. Thranduil's eyes briefly closed as pain gripped his heart.

"And why is that?"

"I am afraid for you. You will be hurt if I love you. _He_ uses everyone I love against me…" Legolas turned away again, burying his head into the pillow and muffling his tears. Thranduil gently drew him into his arms.

"Who will hurt me, Legolas? You can tell me, it is all right," Thranduil kissed his brow lovingly, unconsciously holding him tightly as to protect him from this sudden foe. He did not show it, but he was now beginning to feel the sudden gripping pangs of terror for his child deep inside him.

"No, I cannot. If I tell you, you will die, _Ada_," Legolas was now crying again. "You will die, just like Imrathon after he learned that _he_ had given me it, and you will leave me here alone with _him_, and…"

Thranduil hushed him gently. His features were composed, but inside he felt like he was being torn apart by the razor-sharp teeth of dragons. _Someone has threatened him, promising to kill me if he speaks of something. Imrathon was murdered! By the love of Ilúvatar, what in Arda is happening!_

"Legolas, how did Imrathon die?" the king asked quietly. His eyes were not upon his child, but instead staring blankly through the balcony doors and into the bleary April sky as his mind worked like mad, trying to process and decipher everything at once. Legolas' shoulders shook with sobs, his body convulsing in the king's arms.

"I cannot tell you, _he_ will find out…"

"No, he will not. Legolas, tell me. This will help us; I will not die, I promise you!" Thranduil's tone was a mix of anger and pleading, feeling lost and confused. His child was being threatened by some unknown foe, and he would not tell him who it was!

Legolas turned his wide, sapphire-silver eyes to his father. "Do you not get it, _Ada_? I cannot! _He _sees everything, with his _palantîr_! _He _will know when I have said too much, and _he_ will kill you! Imrathon's death is my fault, because I told him too much! I do not want to see someone else die because of me! Please, _Ada_, I do not want to hurt you!" With that Legolas collapsed sobbing uncontrollably in the king's arms, who sat motionless, stunned by his son's words. His mind was working furiously. _'He' possesses a palantîr, one of the great Seeing Stones. Imrathon was murdered……and Legolas is not allowed to speak of it…but how would he know if there were no signs of a messenger? But there was an arrow by the child and the body…and a piece of parchment…_

"Legolas…" Thranduil began. The child stirred uncomfortably in his arms. "The note on the arrow – what did it say?"

Legolas sat bolt upright. "How do you know there was a message?" He exclaimed incredulously, his eyes wide and wild. Thranduil shrank back at his son's sudden crazed appearance. But before Legolas could say more, his eyes suddenly snapped shut, and he winced, clutching at his chest. A soft moan escaped his lips, and anxiously Thranduil reached for him, his hands flying to the source of pain. Legolas shoved him away abruptly.

"No! You cannot stay here, _he _knows!" Legolas cried desperately. He shoved at the king with horror in his eyes, but Thranduil was stunned. Nothing made sense. "_He _knows! _He_ will hurt you, kill you, and take you away from me!" Legolas collapsed onto the bed, huddling into a tiny ball. "No! NO!"

Thranduil watched in numb shock as his child burst into tears and clawed at the sheets and bedding, sobbing hysterically, moaning in emotional agony all the while. Suddenly he silenced, and lay still, breathing hard. Abruptly he sucked in a gasp.

"No…no, not again. Not again, not again, not again…" Legolas whimpered, and a sudden piercing shriek escaped from his lips, and he trembled madly. He squeezed his eyes shut, and suddenly stilled. Thranduil lurched forward.

"_Legolas!_"

But suddenly, the prince sat upright. His movements were swift and fluid as he turned his head to Thranduil, and grinned nastily. The king nearly fell backwards. Legolas' eyes were a flaming red, his pupils and iris one as he gazed at Thranduil piercingly. They were a burning, blazing red, no spark of light or joy in their fiery darkness, and Thranduil involuntarily recoiled at the sight of his little son possessing eyes so intense, so petrifying, so terrible.

"We meet again, King Thranduil," Legolas hissed, his voice like and yet so unlike his own. It was deeper, more powerful, yet it possessed the same slight high-pitched tone of the Elfling he was. There was some hidden voice inside Legolas', a voice that was not familiar, yet it felt like Thranduil had known this person all his life…Something was terribly, terribly wrong, and Thranduil knew it. Rising to his feet hastily, he began to back away.

"Legolas?"

Legolas tipped his head to the side and gave a smug smile.

"Of course I am Legolas. This is your son's body, Thranduil, but his mind…" Legolas laughed suddenly, cruel and harsh. "Ah, his mind is not his own."

Thranduil's eyes flashed ever so faintly, danger glimmering from their depths. "Who are you?" he demanded quietly. He did not show the anger that was bubbling so near to the surface, for he was skilled in the arts of hiding his true feelings. Legolas smiled up at him sweetly.

"You cannot guess who I am, of all the evil beings out there with the power to control minds, to enter bodies? Well then, I shall give you some hints." Legolas' features suddenly hardened, cold and menacing. "_I_ was the one responsible for your father' death. _I_ sent the Orcs to kill you, the queen, and the babe that would perhaps be the downfall of me once grown, but my servants failed and only the girl died. _I_ tortured the brat of yours in my towers. Can you guess now, little king?"

Legolas went on, his voice dropping down to be low and sweet yet again.

"Watching your father die was so entertaining…so sweet…so…_beautiful_, do you not think? And your wife, ah, she was a charming lady, wasn't she?" Thranduil's eyes briefly closed, and he drew in his breath sharply at the mention of Vanya. This could not be Legolas, it could not be, it was not possible, he did not possess this kind of madness, this disrespect for his dead mother and grandsire, this…this…_evil_…

"How do I know your true identity when all the Free Peoples' enemies know that my father and wife were murdered by _yrch _from the south?" Thranduil broke in suddenly, his eyes sharp and piercing.

Legolas merely smiled. "I know something that the others do not," he murmured slyly. Thranduil's eyes narrowed. "I watched your wife die. No, I was not there myself, but I have my methods of seeing things from afar. Here is what I will tell you: your wife was with child when she died." At this Legolas' eyes flickered across Thranduil's features, searching for the reaction he sought. And there, in the eyes, he found it: behind the blank mask, there was the flicker of pain, of shock, of horror for the slightest instant before it melted back into the emotionless mask that the king was so excellent at pulling in place. Legolas smiled sweetly and continued, knowing he had struck a sensitive nerve.

"The girl screamed, did she not? Oh yes, she did scream. The horrifying sound of her tender voice straining at her vocal limit as she uttered her anguish and agony must have been terrible. And if I remember correctly, did she not cry _'carú tegi gurth am hîni-nín!'_+ to her attackers? I know very little of your language, but I believe she spoke of 'children'. Nay, not one child; many, or at least two. Do not tell me that you forced another child upon the poor girl, Thranduil," Legolas said in disgust. "Did you wish that much for large progeny? Could you not have hired some of your women for the night to carry your numerous heirs and spare that beautiful, dazzling maiden of your harsh touches, your hoarse whispers? But nonetheless, a child your wife had with her. A little daughter you would have had, eh, Thranduil? Or another son?"

Thranduil sucked in sharp breath. _No one knew about the second child, save I. Is it possible that the Orcs saw the slight roundness of her belly? Did they see her as she strove to shield both our son and unborn daughter from the bite of the blades and knives that rained down upon her? _In his dream he had not seen her do this, but perhaps his dream had been altered to focus upon only Legolas months ago, and not the _meldainiel+_ that Vanya bore within her. Now that he thought about it, Thranduil did indeed remember his beloved cry out many times to spare her children. But surely the enemy was not intelligent enough to realize that she was with child…

_No…he could not possibly know that she was with child…he must be lying…_His eyes briefly closed and his thoughts flashed back, remembering when his first child had been born, and when Vanya had announced within three months that she was with yet another child. How proud and excited they were when they learned that she would give birth to yet another child, a daughter, in the summer of the next year. Legolas had brought them so much joy in his first months. They had been so thrilled when they learned that they would be blessed with another young life so early in the eternity that they were supposed to spend together, blissful and in love…

"The grief of learning that your wife and unborn child were dead must have nearly killed you," Legolas murmured understandingly, grinning madly. Thranduil caught the mocking undertone. The Woodland King's eyes flashed open, and they lit upon his son with seething anger. "But life is not always fair, am I correct, Thranduil?"

Throughout Legolas' monologue, Thranduil's temper had risen to a dangerous point, threatening to lose control. It had clicked who this was, even as he denied it, and now he was certain. His faced flushed, his fingernails digging sharply into his palm as he held his hands in tight fists at his sides, and he shook slightly, his anger getting the best of him. And now, Thranduil lost it. The cool, concealing mask upon his features cracked and fell away, and Thranduil went mad.

"WHAT HAVE YOU DONE WITH MY SON, SAURON!" Thranduil roared. He leapt forward and seized the body that Sauron inhabited by the neck and shook him hard, the small windpipe easily collapsing under his iron grip. "GET OUT OF HIS BODY! CURSE YOU, CURSE YOU SAURON! HOW DARE YOU SPEAK OF MY WIFE AND CHILDREN LIKE THAT! I SWEAR, I WILL KILL-"

The body gave a sudden shudder in the king's tight grip, his eyes shutting tightly, and then opening again to reveal sapphire.

"_Ada_?"

Thranduil gave a sharp cry and leapt back to find staring into the ice-blue crystal orbs of his very frightened and terrified child, who lay cowering on the bed. No longer did fire burn in his eyes.

"_Ada_?" Legolas whimpered, trembling. His small, shaking hands were rubbing his sore neck anxiously, and he coughed. "Why were you hurting me?"

Thranduil felt his anger dissolve immediately. The terrified look on his child's face was because of his actions. Sweet Valar, he had tried to throttle Legolas…

Stumbling forward, Thranduil reached out for his child with a shaking hand. _Forgive me…_

Legolas recoiled slightly, terror in his eyes. The king shrank back as if struck. Tears came unbidden to his eyes, and he staggered backwards, his hand clutching at his own throat as he saw the bruises upon his child's. Turning, he fled, leaving his child sitting there horrified and in shock. The door slammed shut, and Thranduil was gone.

_Ada was hurting me…_

The terrible anger and hatred in Thranduil's eyes was terrifying, and Legolas whimpered softly and huddled under the blankets at the thought of his father _wanting_ to hurt him. _What had happened? I remember nothing, save that he was trying to get me to tell him about the message…_

He shuddered suddenly, remembering the last thing he heard and saw. The chanting, the same he had heard when Sauron had cut him in Dol Guldar, had returned again, and he had been sucked into blackness, hurtling through darkness. _Chanting…_

He had heard the chanting before, that he was sure of. But when, that he did not know. Moaning softly, Legolas huddled into a ball, pulling the blankets over his head as tears came unbidden to his eyes, a headache beginning to throb at his temple. Then Legolas began to cry, his tears creating a slippery trail that led down his fair cheeks from his beautiful eyes, eyes that only moments before had been the only sign that he had been possessed by one of the most powerful, yet terrible, beings in Middle-earth for the second time.

**TBC**

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_+carú tegi gurth am hîni-nín: lit. trans. meaning "do not bring death upon my children!" (my Elvish is not very accurate, so please do not be offended if you are fluent in the Sindarin language!)_

_+meldainiel: beloved angel (this is not, however, the translation for 'baby' or 'infant'. It remains simply what I said it means.)

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	27. XXVI: Motives

**Mask of Innocence**

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_A great big "SORRY" to you all! I did not intend to post so late. I fear I shall now be posting closer to every couple of weeks, as I am having very little time to get to the computer to write! The opening night of my play is next Thursday and is through Saturday, and I have a choir concert Wednesday night, so I am swamped for the next week and stressing out already. Wish me luck on my part as Lucy in 'The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe'! _

_Thanks for staying with me, and especially thanks to all reviewers: _

**Elven hope, TheChocolateChickenOfMars, Queen Cheryl, theo darkstar, Faerlas, Saerwen, RuByMoOn17, silverkonekotsukari, Illeanah, LazloTitan36, Legolass Q, AngelicVampiress, ElenweMorewen & Moonyasha!**

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**Chapter Twenty-six: Motives**

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"…**Does it kill?  
Does it burn?  
Is it painful to learn  
That it's me that has all the control…"**

**- Maroon5: "Harder to Breathe"**

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Breathing hard, Thranduil burst through the palace gates and stumbled down the steps, blindly running. Where he was going he did not know, and nor did it matter.

_I tried to kill him…I tried to kill him…I tried to kill him…I tried to kill him…_

With an anguished cry the mighty king sank to the ground, pressing his palms hard against his eyes. _I tried to kill him!_

"Sweet Valar, forgive me!" Thranduil cried, his voice rough with unshed tears. "I tried to throttle my child, my precious son that lived through your grace and blessing! He will never be able to look upon me again without thinking that I hate him, that I wish he never lived!"

Thranduil collapsed to the earth, the controlled mask upon his face shattering as tears threatened to overcome him. It was all too much. Sauron was possessing Legolas, and there was nothing he could do about it.

"But why? Why would he want to possess Legolas?" Thranduil begged the trees above him, even if they did not answer. "The boy has no power in the Council or over anything in the realm, because even though he is only prince he remains still a child, and he does not even have the power to overrule my decisions. He is a child, for Valar's sakes!"

_But that is why Sauron is using him!_ His mind screamed. _He has no power! That is the point! If Sauron manages to take away the innocence of the Woodland Realm, he takes away the peoples' spirit. That leads to a lower morality, and therein lies the key: they will not fight with heart. They know they are doomed, for the Dark Lord has already managed to take what they value the most: their youngest prince and child. I will be forced to bring him to death to protect my people and my child, so that he can not harm any others or bring harm to himself. I could not let Sauron take over my child. I could never live with that, knowing that every day he suffers while I am able to do something about it, even if it means extinguishing the flame that kept him alive. Vanya, Adar, Naneth and Imrathon would welcome him in Mandos. He will not be alone in death there; he will be with his family and friend, the family he never knew. And I will follow him. For because I am strong of heart I will not fade on grief alone, so I will cast myself from the highest peak to the sea, and there I shall meet my end, and I will be received in Mandos by my wife, my father, my mother, my closest friend and my child. Perhaps this is for the best. Perhaps this is why Legolas was imprisoned and tortured, so that we can be reunited again with those that have died. Perhaps the Valar wished for us to be together again, so they thrust us into water so deep that we cannot stay afloat, and there we are doomed to meet our end, so that we may see our loved ones, and be with them in peace, for all eternity._

"But if that is why you have torn my family apart and slain us one by one, why could you not have put us on ships and thrown us out to sea to sail to Aman, where we could be safe!" Thranduil shouted to the heavens, tears slipping down his face. "If you wanted us to be together, why did you kill us all? Could we not have lived together here in Arda? Was it not to be? Why am I forced to suffer here alone, my father and wife slain before my eyes and my child possessed by the most evil of all demons left in the world, with no one to share this grief with? Why did you have to take my child from me?

"I lived through my father's death because of Vanya, and I lived through Vanya's death because of Legolas, but when Legolas dies I will have no reason to stay! I was born in Doriath, in Beleriand, and that is my home, not this realm. Beleriand is gone, it sank beneath the seas ages ago. You have taken everything from me! My home you tore out from underneath my feet when the Sons of Fëanor sacked Doriath, my father you ripped from my life when he was slain on the first assault on Mordor, my wife you snatched from my hands when the Orcs slew her, my child you abandoned to the Dark Lord when he was imprisoned, my friend you murdered when his heart failed on the path, and you have left me to die here, alone!"

His anger dissolving word by word, Thranduil now slumped to the ground, collapsing under the shade of the trees as they hummed mournfully over their king.

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Thranduil returned to the palace drained and weary. His frustration, anger, and terror was spent after spending several hours simply staring at the dark, cloudy sky and struggling to discover the motive behind Legolas' kidnapping, but had been unable to think well with the welfare of his child clouding his mind. Without realizing it, Thranduil found himself striding up to Legolas' bedroom door and had raised his hand to knock when he came to his senses with a sudden pang of worry and concern. Taking a steadying breath and banishing all thoughts of his son hating him or cowering in the corner at the sight of him, he knocked quietly, and opened the door.

Thranduil had braced himself for Legolas bursting into tears, refusing to speak to him, retreating from his touch, cursing him, striking him, or a combination of it all, but what he saw took all the wind out of him. Daernesta was bent over a pale prince, whispering gently to the softly moaning child while placing a damp cloth upon his forehead. His heart clenching with sudden fear for his son Thranduil immediately was at Legolas' side._ Please, Valar, do not let him be hurt because of my actions…_

"What happened?" Thranduil demanded, seizing Daernesta's arm. Anxiously motioning for him to keep his voice down, Daernesta met his king's eyes with emotion no weaker than a powerful mixture of desperation and concern.

"I know not, my lord," Daernesta explained quietly and calmly, easily able to gather that Thranduil was worried half-to-death over his child. "I saw him stumble from his chambers as I passed and he collapsed on the ground before me. I brought him back in and settled him into bed; he seemed very ill, much alike the time after he returned from the Dark Lord's possession-" Thranduil shuddered involuntarily at the use of 'possession' and 'Dark Lord' so close together. "-and I wished to know what made him look so pale, so sorrowful, so weary. However, he refused to speak when I talked with him, and he vomited shortly after. He continues to run a high fever."

Thranduil cursed under his breath, his heart pounding in his ears. _Valar, he could be suffering because of me… _Gently, he enfolded his ailing son's hand and squeezed softly, offering his strength to him. Legolas accepted it readily, and turned his head to the side ever so slightly as his eyes, bright with fever, fluttered open and gazed upon his father. His parched lips peeled apart slightly as he tried to speak, but the words would not form and he gave up quickly and went limp as exhaustion took over.

"He is so pale, so small, so cold," Thranduil murmured softly, his voice thick with emotion. His hand strayed to stroke the little one's forehead comfortingly as Legolas fell asleep, and Thranduil noticed with a sudden pang that his eyes drifted shut as he slipped into the realm of dreams. _Valar, please do not let him suffer because of me. Readily would I take this instead of him – he did nothing wrong, I am the one who has sinned. Punish me as you please, and let me take some of his pain for him, for I wish whole-heartedly to lessen Legolas' burden._

Legolas shifted in his sleep, a weak moan straying from his lips.

"Thranduil."

The tone of Daernesta's voice nearly made Thranduil's heart skip a beat. He slowly met the healer's mournful gaze.

"He will not survive much more of this," Daernesta told him quietly, his expression solemn. All the breath rushed from Thranduil lungs, and he clutched at Legolas' hand tightly. He swallowed hard.

"No, you cannot-"

"Thranduil, Legolas is dying," Daernesta interrupted gently. His eyes were soft and understanding as he gazed into the king's emerald orbs. Thranduil stared at him, his head shaking back and forth weakly. "Whatever keeps happening to him _must stop._ This malady, I know not of what it is, and frankly, my lord, that terrifies me. He has suffered from it before, has he not? When he was first brought home?"

Thranduil merely nodded. Daernesta sighed.

"He never fully recovered from Dol Guldar," Daernesta continued quietly. "His heart is failing, not only from exhaustion, but from grief – he has been scarred terribly not only from being in the enemy's stronghold but from witnessing Imrathon's death and feeling the pain of losing the closest thing he had to a brother. He had just gained back his strength after his encounter with Mithrandir and the forest when he lost Imrathon, but he had some strength then that kept him going. But something else happened this morning, either while you were with him or after you left, that brought his fragile world crashing down. The pain and stress caught up to him. He will not survive any more of this. It will be a miracle if he lasts a week, let alone two days in this condition again."

Thranduil's eyes briefly closed as he heard Daernesta speak about what had happened this morning. He knew what it was that had brought this pain and weakness back upon Legolas; he thought that his father had turned against him, that he hated him. The Valar knew he wished he could simply wake up and assure Legolas that it was Sauron that he truly had been meaning to fight, not him. He loved him dearly, and would never try to hurt him. _Ai,_ if only things like that were so simple, for he knew it would take much time and many tears to explain what truly had transpired, and now they had not the time nor the strength.

"Legolas?"

The child stirred weakly, but opened his eyes, squinting at his father wearily.

"Forgive me, my child, for any pain I have caused you," Thranduil murmured sadly. He stroked his son's hand lovingly. "I love you."

"And I love you," Legolas whispered hoarsely. Thranduil smiled faintly, and kissed his son's temple as his eyes drifted closed to sleep yet again.

"_Saes,_ my friend, you must help him," the healer pleaded softly as Thranduil's gaze met his. Daernesta saw the struggle to conceal the terror and anguish for his patient in the king's eyes, and Thranduil saw the pleading, desperate look to save his child in the healer's. "Always you have been the greater healer, even more so than me. Nay, do not try to correct me, for you know this is true. I can give those who need it most a little of my life's strength, and I can only do this through my herbs and medicines, but you can do so much more. You can give them the strength without the remedies, you can pull them from the doorstep of death with your touch alone. I will allow that I am a great healer, but you wield the power. Thranduil, your position as king as lent you so much greatness, it is nearly impossible to believe. I wish I was blessed with the same kind of strength as you.

"But I beg of you now; you have given him some of your life's strength already, but although I do not wish for you to do so I fear you must sacrifice more if you wish for him to live much longer. Are you willing to do so, my lord?"

Thranduil answered immediately: "Yes, I shall. I would beg you to remove my head if I refused," he added darkly, and positioned himself so that his hand covered the pale forehead glistening with a sheen of sweat and his other hand lay upon the child's chest. Then, closing his eyes and chanting softly in an ancient, beautiful language, and felt his strength begin to drain from his hands. His fingers, he knew, were faintly glowing as his life-strength slipped through the thin barrier of skin and flowed into the veins of his offspring. His very muscle and vigor seemed to be weakening with every word that he spoke and every second that past, and within several minutes he began to feel the first effects of his work. Legolas had begun to barely stir beneath his hands, his forehead to cool slightly, and his breathing to relax and come easier to the poor child. His heartbeat slowed back to normal pace, and his body seemed to finally be at ease. But Thranduil's body began to weaken, to weary. He felt haziness come over his mind, and his limbs began to slacken and seem heavier than normal. It became somewhat harder to draw breath as iron bands seemed to constrict his chest as he took on the majority of the pain that Legolas was suffering. A fever began to rage in his body, and his face to pale. At long last Thranduil removed his hands, and he sighed wearily as his child shifted into a deeper, healing sleep. He met Daernesta's gaze with masked tiredness.

"_Hannon le,_ my lord," Daernesta murmured, smiling gently. "I suggest you take some rest; you will be very weary from your great sacrifice to your child. I promise you now; I will not leave him." Thranduil nodded numbly to him, stood, and was gone.

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_Legolas is taken to Dol Guldar. _

_He returns alive, but with a carving on his chest. Is ill. Illness includes vomiting, fever. Heals mysteriously, but is in a terrible state of mind._

_Avoids trees – dramatic change in him – is like an empty husk._

_Mithrandir helps him, Legolas is almost himself again._

_Imrathon dies. Legolas mourns, slips into a state of depression._

_Legolas is possessed by Sauron. I try to kill him. Legolas is ill yet again; possesses same symptoms as he did months earlier._

Thranduil sat back and gazed at the list he had written outlining Legolas' life after he had returned from Dol Guldar, and sighed wearily. An hour or so he had been sitting in his study, staring blankly at nothing after arising from his bed after a long rest. It made sense, though, the motive behind Legolas' kidnapping that he had stumbled across outside; Sauron wanted to gain control of the northern section of the forest. _It would not have taken a wizard to tell me that,_ Thranduil thought to himself bitterly. The Dark Lord had been at it for hundreds of years; his evil was steadily creeping northwards and would soon envelope the area just south of the Mountains of Mirkwood. Give him a quarter of a millennia and Thranduil was sure that Sauron will be encroaching upon the caverns themselves. _And once he conquers the forest, nothing would stop him from attacking the Long Lake, Dale, the Misty Mountains, and, Valar forbid, even Rivendell._

Thranduil closed his eyes and rubbed his temple wearily, thinking hard. "If Sauron wished to gain control, what better way than to damage the line of kings from the inside," the Woodland King muttered slowly. "If he kidnaps Legolas and puts him under his spell, he can gain possession of the child's body whenever he wishes to. But what would he do then? Why would he wish to take over Legolas' body?"

Wearily, he stood and began to pace the study floor slowly, racking his brain for every piece of information that could aide him. His heart was clenched tight with the horrible knowledge that his child was possessed by a horrible demon, and it burned to think about the fact that Legolas may indeed die.

"Veryan!" Thranduil called suddenly, and the fair-haired servant appeared at the doorway momentarily.

"You called, my lord?" Veryan asked, bowing low to his king.

"Yes; would you please fetch Lord Taidîr? I need to speak to him on a matter that concerns one of his sentries."

"I shall, my lord. I will return with Lord Taidîr momentarily."

"Thank you," Thranduil nodded, and Veryan disappeared. True to his word, Veryan returned within minutes, Taidîr following behind him with a neutral expression upon his face. As soon as Veryan was dismissed, a frown spoiled Taidîr's features.

"My lord, you wished to speak with me about one of the sentries?" He asked, troubled. "Has one of them displeased you in any way?"

"No, by all means, no," Thranduil stood hastily. He strode slowly, pondering still, to Taidîr, stopping in front of him and addressing him there. "But can you tell me the name of the sentry who was assigned to the section of forest just east of here?"

Taidîr frowned, but nodded. "Yes," he said slowly, "but on which day do you request this for, and what is the exact location? We have many sentries to the east, and every fortnight the patrols are shifted, so I cannot give you your requested answer unless you supply me with more information."

Thranduil turned slowly and placed his palms flat upon his oak desk, leaning upon it wearily and facing away from Taidîr. He sighed almost inaudibly. "I need to know who it was that was patrolling the forest closest to the place where Imrathon died, Taidîr," Thranduil answered quietly. He turned around, his face expressionless and fair.

"Tidurian, son of Andaer, my lord, if my memory serves me correctly," Taidîr answered thoughtfully, but sorrow glimmered deep within his eyes at the mention of his slain friend. Thranduil nodded, remembering Tidurian; he was a fair, strong son who had recently joined the patrols.

"May I speak with him?"

Taidîr was slightly startled. "Yes, of course you may. But may I inquire as to the reason behind the request?"

Thranduil smiled, clapping Taidîr warmly on the shoulder. "I would never deny you answers, my friend. Yes, you may inquire, and I will answer," Thranduil paused, his smile fading as he continued more seriously. "I wish to learn what transpired between Legolas and Imrathon that morning. Something of great importance occurred, and the child will not tell me. Something pains him when he speaks of it, and he has sworn to an enemy that he will not speak of it."

Taidîr's eyes softened. "Do not be troubled, my king. Answers will be revealed in time, that I am sure," he murmured consolingly.

Thranduil nodded, averting his eyes. "I know."

Giving his lord a brief, supportive smile, Taidîr bowed and left, promising to return soon with Tidurian. Sighing yet again, Thranduil returned to his seat, seized the book he had been writing on earlier, and began to write down his thoughts while he waited for the return of the captain. This book, in a way, was as important to him as a logbook was important to a ship's captain; in it he wrote down his thoughts and hopes over the years, recording events he thought needed preservation. Here, he could organize his thoughts into a clear meaning, and perhaps discover the motive behind Legolas' kidnapping:

_I shall question Mithrandir further on the details of the enemy; he is the wisest here and I will benefit from his counsel greatly. But for now I must look for answers within my heart._

_What would be the motive behind Legolas' kidnapping?_

_Legolas has no political power. He does and will not have enough control to overrule my decisions, even when he is older and wiser, and cannot invoke rules and laws without my permission. The Valar knows that I would never go down without a fight, and seeing as he is only a mere child Sauron would never have enough power in his body to wound me. Therefore, he could not pressure me into obeying him. The Dark Lord, unfortunately, is intelligent enough to realize that. So, in conclusion, Sauron is not using him to overrule my decisions and try to corrupt me._

Glancing up, Thranduil scanned the room as his mind continued to process information and conjure up another clue. When his gaze lit upon the beautiful sheath that housed his long, gleaming knife mounted upon the wall, he began to write again.

_But would he seek to attack me? Surely he would not. Sauron knows that while I remain here my power remains and the magic that protects my people dominates over his rule unless he himself comes to my gates. He knows that while I remain king, my people remain under control and have hope. But, if their king is removed from position, they will become divided, broken, leaderless and defenseless. Yes, many will fight, but many will fall if the enemy attacks. With Imrathon gone, they do not have their loyal captain to lead them and they may flee. If I die, my people will scatter like ashes to the wind. They know that with my power that I can protect them within the cavern walls, but if I am gone the gates can be broken and shattered, and the enemy will pour in and slaughter them all. My people know this, and they would be wise to flee if I am killed._

_But would he wish to invoke a mutiny? This, though, makes no sense, for my people remain ever loyal to me. What kind of twisted words would drive an Elven heart from its true loyalty? Surely no words that my son would speak would cause this. No, Sauron would not try to raise a mutiny against me._

_But he also knows that I would never lay a hand on one of my kinsmen, so a mutiny perhaps would be what he is aiming for. He knows that I am ashamed of the past, for the followers of Fëanor attacked and slew my kin, the Teleri of Alqualondë, from which I am descended as a Sindar. If one of my kin were to attack me, he knows that I would do my best not to slay them even if it is in my defense, for I wish not to draw Elven blood. That would be a most effective way to destroy me, I think, for my hesitation would perhaps give my attackers the moment they need to strike me down…_

Thranduil suddenly gasped. His writing had brought him to one conclusion…

_Sauron is using Legolas to kill me._

The Woodland King sat back in shock, his mind whirling furiously. Surely it could not be…but nay, it did make sense…

_It makes perfect sense, now that I think of it. Sweet Valar, it is exactly what Sauron wants. He knows that I would not dare draw Elven blood, especially my own flesh and blood, so using Legolas would be the perfect solution to his plan. He knows that once I am gone, my magic will be gone unless I transfer my power to Legolas. This only happens when the child bears the crown. Nay, the power to be king is not in the crown, but in our blood. But, however, the magic and power to gain the hearts of the people must be earned, not inherited. But if Legolas gains the throne and the crown, the magic will belong to him and it is his choice when, where, and why to use it. He may choose to let the people suffer and die if he does not wish for them to be granted a safe haven in the palace. He can let the enemy through the gates if he wishes. Legolas would never do this, but Sauron would. And bearing the power to do so, Sauron can force the child through inhabiting his body to destroy his people. Those who do not die will flee for Rivendell, Lórien, or the Grey Havens to leave for Valinor. Then, Sauron can take what he wants, and he will have dominion over this forest, and all lands around it will soon fall._

_But to protect Legolas, I must stay alive. Sauron will know that his apprentice is dying, and he will waste no time. I cannot let Sauron control him again, for I fear in my heart that if Sauron gains control yet again I will die. If I am lost to the world, Legolas' part in this tale will end, and he will be destroyed, for he will be needed no longer by Sauron. I cannot let that happen. I must live!_

_I will talk to Mithrandir at once. The sentries say he has left to roam the forest in this area, and I shall send for his return. I expect his arrival tomorrow morn at the earliest, and there I shall consult him on our course of action against Sauron._

_May the Valar protect us. Every day I have felt the Shadow growing, and I believed that it was because of Sauron's power growing in the south. Sweet Elbereth, how wrong I was. All this time the Shadow has been growing in my son, and I never realized it until now, until it was almost too late._

**TBC

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	28. XXVII: The Truths and Lies of a Sentry

**Mask of Innocence**

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_As we begin to venture into waters filled with danger for our beloved king & prince, I would like to remind everyone of the rating and reasons behind it: **strong PG-13 for angst, adult themes (NO sex or implications of it, however), blood, tears, and character death. **Now would also be the time to encourage all of you, if you feel this story needs a higher rating (M is the next category and states_ "Not suitable for children or teens below the age of 16 with possible strong but non-explicit adult themes, references to violence, and strong coarse language."),_ by all means, let me know_. _I believe my rating is currently fine, though. (T: _"Suitable for teens, 13 years and older, with some violence, minor coarse language, and minor suggestive adult themes.") _Sorry, I just don't want to be flamed or kicked off FFnet for posting something with an inappropriate rating. ;) Thanks._**

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**Chapter Twenty-seven: The Truths and Lies of a Sentry**

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"…**You're searching for truth.  
You must look in the mirror,  
and make sense of what you can see…"**

**- DJ Tiesto: Just Be**

**XXXXXXXXXXXX**

A knock was heard on Thranduil's study door. Taidîr and a fair-haired youth strode in, their faces flushed from riding, and Thranduil dropped the quill, shut the leather book firmly and stood to receive the sentry and captain.

"My king, this is Tidurian, son of Andaer."

Tidurian bowed low to Thranduil, the curtain of silk hair falling gracefully forward before he righted himself, his face a picture of utmost dignity and solemnity.

"Tidurian, son of Andaer, I wish to question you not on any wrongdoing, but on the tragedy that transpired a month ago in the vicinity of your patrol," Thranduil stepped forward, formally addressing the young guard, his face a perfect representation of grace, tranquility, nobleness, and righteousness. No signs of the sudden and horrifying conclusion he had just made were visible upon his features. Tidurian's face paled ever so slightly at his words, but other than that he did not react.

"What is it that you wish to learn of, my lord?" Tidurian returned gracefully, meeting his king square in the eye.

"Did you see my son, Prince Legolas, and Lord Imrathon together at all on the morn of the lord's death?"

Tidurian nodded. "Yes, my lord, I did indeed."

"Did you hear them speak together in the moments before Lord Imrathon died?"

Tidurian hesitated slightly, a pause only Thranduil was quick enough to notice. "No, my lord."

Thranduil cocked his head to the side, studying the sentry intently. "You are sure, Tidurian?"

"Yes, my lord. I am sure."

Thranduil gazed at him a moment longer, his eyes boring into the youth's sparkling orbs and searching his thoughts extensively, then turned away, seemingly satisfied. "Very well then."

The Woodland King moved away, staring outside the balcony doors to the bright sky. Several long, intense minutes passed until he finally sighed wearily, and turned back to the youth. "Tidurian, you have lied to me," he stated. Tidurian's eyes widened.

"Nay, my lord, I have done no such thing!" he cried. Thranduil cut him off with a simple wave of his hand.

"Nay, I am correct. Do not argue with me, soldier!" Thranduil warned sharply, eyes flashing, when Tidurian opened his mouth to protest. The sentry flinched at the cold, commanding tone and quickly shut his mouth. Thranduil continued. "I have spoken with my son. He has stated that he spoke with Lord Imrathon, his closest friend and ally second to me, and I swear to you that I trust his word above yours. Lying is treachery, Tidurian, and it will not go unpunished in my realm. If you wish to redeem yourself, you will supply me with the truthful answers I desire and you will leave this room with no guilt upon your head. If you chose to defy me and my kingship I shall have you punished for traitorous tasks. Is this understood, Tidurian?"

Tidurian's face was as white as a sheet when the king was finished, whether by anger or fear Taidîr could not tell. "Yes, I understood perfectly well, King Thranduil," the sentry answered coldly. "But I ask you now; why are you not punishing your son when he also has committed malevolent acts? He swore me never to speak a single word of what transpired before the guards found him and the body unless I wished to die."

Thranduil turned a vivid shade of crimson, his eyes flashing angrily. "How dare you accuse Legolas of threatening someone!" he cried furiously.

"My lord, I do not lie!" Tidurian shouted at him. "Prince Legolas came to me at night and threatened me, holding a blade to my neck. I dared not move nor retaliate, for he was both a child and one of royalty, and he held a dagger, my lord!"

"You have never seen the prince, knave!" Thranduil cried, in a full-fledged rage. "Describe him if you are so certain that my son, innocent and honest, threatened you with death!"

Tidurian stared at his king. "Legolas has fair hair, my lord, like a pale gold that shimmers in the morning sunlight," he told him quietly, never breaking eye contact with the king. "He is only an Elfling, barely taller than one's knee. His face is paler than what is usual for our kind, for grief and sorrow has touched him deeply. His eyes were strange also, for they blazed red, as if a very fire burned hatred in their depths."

Thranduil's eyes widened, the angry retort dissolving on his lips as he drew in a sharp breath. He stared at Tidurian for a moment, digesting the sentry's description. _They blazed red, as if a very fire burned hatred in their depths…_

"His eyes…" Thranduil breathed. His own emerald orbs suddenly bored hard into Tidurian's eyes. "You said they were like fire?"

"Yes, my lord," Tidurian nodded. "And I speak the truth, this I swear to you."

"Sweet Valar, it cannot be…" Thranduil turned away, running a hand through his silky locks anxiously. He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. "No, it cannot be…"

Abruptly, he turned back to Tidurian. "Tell me what Imrathon and Legolas spoke of. You will not come to harm, that I assure you," he commanded swiftly. Inside, he was quaking with fear and horror, even if he did not show it now.

Tidurian thought for a long moment. "They spoke of Aman, and the desire to sail. Prince Legolas was questioning Lord Imrathon on the desire, and Lord Imrathon supplied the answer quite beautifully, although with much sorrow I will add." Thranduil felt his heart soften at the thought, and Tidurian continued on. "But then Lord Imrathon told the child that he would be leaving the next day, and the Prince began to weep. It broke my heart, and the two comforted each other, but then something strange happened."

Thranduil's eyes narrowed inquisitively, but said nothing, waiting anxiously for Tidurian to continue. The sentry did so.

"The prince suddenly fell back in pain, clutching at his chest. I drew out my bow and fitted an arrow to it, preparing to rush to defend him, but there was no enemy and there appeared to be no wound. Lord Imrathon and Legolas began to speak; Lord Imrathon asked of what ailed him. The child hastily replied that it was simply a healing scar, and nothing else. The lord asked to see it, and the prince complied hesitantly, unfastening his tunic and revealing a nasty scar. I could not see it clearly from my position, but it was a very unpleasant sight from what I was able to catch a glance of. Lord Imrathon exclaimed something about the scar; he said something to the effect of "mark of Sauron." I know of the Dark Lord and his evil deeds of the past, but I know not of what Lord Imrathon spoke of. Does that mean anything to you, my lord?"

Thranduil nodded blankly, stunned. "Go on, Tidurian," he told him softly.

"Imrathon made Legolas swear that he would tell you about it, my lord, and then he told him what it meant. 'You are under his rule, now. You must tell your father immediately!' I believe he said. He then asked him what the 'Dark Lord' did when he gave him the scar. Legolas replied tearfully that he chanted something after he was cut. Imrathon was stunned, and exclaimed something about being able to gain a body through his. It made no sense to me, my lord; I apologize if I confuse you also. But then Legolas fell back with a cry again, clutching yet again at his scar, and Imrathon tried to help him. Something caused the lord to stop, and without any warning he too fell to the ground, and began to scream. For many moments he cried, his screams sharp and desperate as he writhed in agony, before he died. Legolas collapsed anxiously over the body, crying for him to wake up and answer him, but to no avail. An arrow suddenly shot from the trees, and I immediately turned and let loose an arrow; an Orc had penetrated my patrol area when I was distracted. The next thing I know is that I am rushing to Legolas' side as other guards flock to the area, and I believe you know the rest, my king."

Thranduil nodded once, unable to speak. He remained silent and still for several moments, taking a long time to digest the information. "Thank you, Tidurian. I ask your pardon for thinking you a traitor, and hope that you will forgive a heartbroken king," he smiled thinly, meeting the sentry's eyes only to speak to him. Tidurian bowed.

"Indeed, my lord. I pray that you will forgive me also, for I have committed a treacherous act in speaking wrongly of the events that have transpired in the beginning. Although I do wish to learn what caused Prince Legolas to act against me as he did. Why is it that he held a knife to my throat? I knew not that your child was schooled in the arts of combat already, for he seemed very agile and wise in the ways of disposing a foe."

"That, I am afraid, I will not disclose to you," the king said with a gentle smile. "I am sure you understand the reason why I would wish to play things closer to the vest, yes?"

Tidurian nodded, a disappointed frown upon his lips, but smiled at his king nonetheless. "Indeed, my lord."

"I thank you again, Tidurian, son of Andaer. You and Lord Taidîr may leave now."

Taidîr and Tidurian bowed and left quickly. As soon as the door had shut, Thranduil collapsed to his knees with a gasp.

"Sweet Valar…" he breathed, shutting his eyes tightly and pressing a hand to his face. "Oh Ilúvatar…I never knew…"

Tears stung the king's beautiful emerald eyes as he realized what truly this all meant.

_Legolas had clutched at his chest this morning in apparently the same way he had months ago on the morn of Imrathon's death. But Valar, the mark upon his chest remains still? How did I never notice? I shall check him later, when he sleeps._

_But now, the truth behind my dear friend's death has been revealed. But the convulsions, and the screams, it seems so familiar……but it could not be. It could not be the same seizures he suffered when Legolas was in Dol Guldar…it is not possible. But yet, I have said the same to many events and they all have been proven against me. Valar, what is happening to us? Do you truly want to see us all suffer and die before Sauron? Is this what you wished to happen?_

'_To gain a body through his…' Tidurian said._

_This morning, when Sauron was controlling Legolas' body…_

_They could not connect. They cannot! I will not let it happen! Legolas cannot be controlled and ruled by Sauron! No! I will die if my child is truly being controlled by the enemy! Valar, no…please, let it not be true…let him be safe…I beg you, do not sacrifice the innocent to the enemy. Take me, a cold-hearted king who has lost everything worth losing in his life instead. Do not make the innocent suffer, please, I beg you._

Realizing that the only way he could know if it was true or not, Thranduil darted down the corridor, slipping silently into Legolas' dim bedroom. The child lay still, sleeping soundly out of exhaustion and healing. Daernesta looked up from the tablet he had been studying in the corner when Thranduil walked in, nodded in salutation, and continued once more to study, leaving the king to his privacy.

Thranduil strode forward and gently lowered himself down upon the bed, reaching out cautiously to unfasten the boy's tunic. And when he was finally able to part the beautiful cloth, he saw the scar.

Gasping at the horrible sight of it, he reached out tentatively to touch the scar. When his hands brushed the scorched, rough skin on the breast bone, there was a sudden sharp, icy feeling that seemingly burned Thranduil, and he recoiled. There was a flash of light, and he saw red eyes gleaming from the darkness before they faded away and melted back into the forms of his child and bedroom.

Stifling a gasp, the Woodland King refastened the tunic and stood warily. He watched as his son shifted in his sleep, a weary sigh escaping his lips as he settled deeper into the realm of dreams. Thranduil's hand brushed something suddenly as he adjusted and fluffed the pillow, and reaching beneath it he withdrew a well-worn and crumpled piece of parchment. He did not recognize the make, for it appeared coarse, rough and everything unlike the parchment he used himself. Unfolding it with a frown, the king soon saw what was written on it.

_You have been warned._

Beneath was a crude symbol, much like an eye.

With a sharp intake of breath he let it drop to the bed. The mark was the same make that Legolas bore upon his chest.

_For the love of Ilúvatar…_

Tears glistened in the king's eyes as his heart clenched tightly, feeling all hope rush out of him in one silent tear that slipped down his fair cheek. He knew that he could perhaps still help Legolas, that he could protect him, but only if he stayed alive. With the Valar as witness, Thranduil swore that he would not let Legolas try to harm him, because he knew that if he perished, his son had no chance at all.

**TBC

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	29. XXVIII: Dark Words

**Mask of Innocence

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_Sorry for the delay! My wrist is not feeling much better, although I was able to tweak this chapter as I saw fit with minor pain. I have the splint on for another week :( but I will try to reply to your reviews as now replies have been officially outlawed in chapters. Now there is a feature through which I can respond to you given that you are a registered user. For those of you who aren't, I'll still get your reviews, and thanks again! _ **

_P.S. I managed to hurt my other hand since I last spoke with everyone: 2nd degree burn from the metal tip of a hot glue gun, and the blister won't heal! (winces) You betcha - lots of fun indeed. ;)_

_Glad to be back!

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**Chapter Twenty-eight: Dark Words**

Darkness came quickly to the Woodland Realm that night. Darkening clouds were rolling in with the gusty winds, the first of spring's heavy storms that always plagued the area this time of year. The sun had not quite fallen yet, so the trees were still visible in the dimming light when one stepped outside into the suddenly chilly air. The rain would not fall for an hour or so, but in the meantime the clouds were gathering above the forest, casting the world into shadow. The dark leaves on the great trees began to shake and tremble in the breeze that was steadily growing greater, the beasts of the forests chattering and howling quietly as they took shelter from the upcoming storm.

All this Gandalf observed from the great windows flung open in Thranduil's study, his fingers drumming absently on the beautiful oak wood that lined the windows. He knew he was earlier than he should be, but he knew that Thranduil would not mind if he took a peek or two at some of the things in his study while he waited. And so the wizard strolled slowly about the room, picking up a map here and dusting off an ancient book there, all the while taking note of what he saw. Thranduil, it seemed, paid attention to detail but kept things somewhat unorganized. Papers and books were spread out in one corner on a small table, a quill left abandoned on a half-finished letter, and books were out of order on the long line of bookcases that housed anachronistic texts. Several things, however, were in perfect order; for example, above the great fireplace hung a great shield and a sword as a reminder of his late father. They were spotless and shining; looking like that had just been finished yesterday when in fact they were thousands of years old. Several paintings lined the wall, all in perfect order without a spot of dust on them. A painting of he and his late wife hung there, of them in the forest together under the shining sun. Another was of his child, several years younger than Legolas was now, smiling and bright. And yet another was hung nearby also, a portrait of a fair-haired youth together with raven-haired Elf of the same age. Crimson and yellow leaves fluttered to the ground behind them, near the sparkling white buildings that stood tall and fair. They both were smiling, light-hearted and proud in their youth. Gandalf smiled faintly when he saw it, recognizing the valley they were in and who the Woodland King's Elven companion was.

Gandalf meandered about the room, pausing here and there to investigate things further. And then he stumbled across something interesting; a leather book lying upon the desk. It appeared very worn and well-loved, the leather scuffed in some places with ink droplets splattered in one corner. Curious as to what its use was, Gandalf carefully peeled it open, flipping to the first page, and began to read:

_Ada gave this to me today for my begetting day celebration. I cannot wait to fill it up! Imrathon and I had a great deal of fun today; we went swimming in the river even though it was as cold as ice! Nana did not get mad at us, though! I was so happy. She said it was because today was a day for celebration, not for chastisement. But alas, not all that happened today was something joyous. King Thingol has set Lord Beren on a quest; Ada says that Beren will not return. I am sad, for I loved Lord Beren dearly. Often he would take me out with him to walk in the forest. I think he has found a melethril; he always asks me about Lady Lúthien and if she speaks of him. Nana is one of her maids and closest friends, so I know the lady well. 'She sends her heart and best wishes,' I always say to him, for that is what she tells me every morn. I still am confused though, for a maiden cannot live without a heart. How can she give him her heart without dying? I shall ask Beren of that later, when he returns from the quest that I know he shall succeed in. Beren is strong, he will be fine. Perhaps I will help him and Lúthien get together; they seem perfect for each other. Nana and Ada do not think so, although they will not tell me why. 'When you are older, child,' they always say with a frown, and immediately begin to speak of something else. Many strange things have been happening here in Doriath, but I shall get to the bottom of it soon, that I will try._

_Until tomorrow,_

_Thranduil_

Gandalf smiled, his eyes twinkling at the thought of a little Thranduil writing this on one of his first begetting days. And to think that this lord survived not only the Fall of Doriath but the Last Alliance and had documented all in this book was incredible.

"If you wish to read something even more interesting, I suggest you read the last entry of this book instead."

Gandalf looked up, surprised that Thranduil had caught him so easily. The Woodland King had just walked in, his robes flowing gracefully behind him as they shimmered in the candlelight. He held a less-worn book, thinner and of a contemporary make, and was extending it to the wizard. His gray eyes scrutinizing Thranduil's features for the slightest clue as to what he meant, Gandalf reached out and took the book. Opening it to the last page that had writing on it he glanced one more time at Thranduil, but still no hint. The solemn, glittering eyes simply stared back at him, giving no suggestion of what the entry read. And so, Gandalf turned his eyes to the fine, cursive print, and yet again began to read:

_Legolas is taken to Dol Guldur. _

_He returns alive, but with a carving on his chest. Is ill. Illness includes vomiting, fever. Heals mysteriously, but is in a terrible state of mind._

_Avoids trees – dramatic change in him – is like an empty husk._

_Mithrandir helps him, Legolas is almost himself again._

_Imrathon dies. Legolas mourns, slips into a state of depression._

_Legolas is possessed by Sauron. I try to kill him. Legolas is ill yet again; possesses same symptoms as he did months earlier._

_I shall question Mithrandir further on the details of the enemy; he is the wisest here and I will benefit from his counsel greatly. But for now I must look for answers within my heart._

_What would be the motive behind Legolas' kidnapping?_

_Legolas has no political power. He does and will not have enough control to overrule my decisions, even when he is older and wiser, and cannot invoke rules and laws without my permission. The Valar knows that I would never go down without a fight, and seeing as he is only a mere child Sauron would never have enough power in his body to wound me. Therefore, he could not pressure me into obeying him. The Dark Lord, unfortunately, is intelligent enough to realize that. So, in conclusion, Sauron is not using him to overrule my decisions and try to corrupt me._

_But would he seek to attack me? Surely he would not... _

Thranduil watched as Gandalf's expression grew more and more grave as he read the fateful entry. When he was finished, the wizard's eyes were dark when they met Thranduil's sharp gaze.

"You are sure of this, Thranduil?" Gandalf murmured gravely, staring long and hard at the Woodland King.

"Yes, Mithrandir, I am."

Gandalf gave a weary sigh and turned away, the book still open to the page as he turned to the open window, watching as lightning flickered through the sky. The wind picked up suddenly, whirling leaves about and rushing into the study through the window. The pages in the book were caught in the breeze, and they were whipped over and over, one by one, flipping farther into the book, where the pages where blank. All of a sudden a small note flew from one of the later pages, and as it was caught up in the gust of wind it sped farther into the study and was swept straight towards the flames of the fire. But a swift hand shot out and seized it easily, and emerald eyes came to rest upon it. They hardened when they saw the writing, and in bitter anger Thranduil cast it down into the flames, watching in dark hatred as the paper was engulfed by the fire. Gandalf came over to his side in just enough time to see the words 'You have been warned,' inscribed on the parchment before the paper turned to embers like the rest. An eye glared out from the embers of the papers for the briefest of seconds, and then it was engulfed in smoke, and was lost.

"Where did you find that?" Gandalf said sharply, pointing at the pile of embers.

"Beneath Legolas' pillow, not two days past," Thranduil said, turning away. "In fact, it was yesterday. Sweet Valar, these past few days have seemed like an eternity to me, I can no longer keep track of them."

"Why did Legolas possess the mark of the enemy?" Gandalf's eyes narrowed.

"I thought that was what it was. A mark of the enemy indeed," Thranduil sighed, and continued on, more loudly so as to explain to Gandalf. "That mark is carved upon his chest. It is the mark of Sauron, although why an eye I know not. I believe that Sauron communicated to him through that note, as if the incident at which the note was taken from was not explanation enough…" The Woodland King's voice trailed off, and he turned away from Gandalf abruptly. But just as soon, he turned around to face the wizard again. "Forgive me, Mithrandir. I forget that you know not what I do, at least not yet. Please, sit down, and I shall explain it all to you, and perhaps we can learn more of what is happening to my child."

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Half an hour later, Thranduil had finally completed his recollection, and they were both sitting deep in thought, the hard pattering of the rain against the windows the only noise breaking the silence. At long last, Gandalf sighed and rubbed his eyes tiredly. He was about to open his mouth to say something when an urgent knocking was heard before the door burst open. Thranduil stood immediately but rushed forward at the appearance of his pale child.

"Ada…I do not feel well…" Legolas whimpered, clutching at his stomach and stumbling forward. He was extremely white and weak-looking as he staggered towards his father.

"Legolas! Child, what ails you?" Thranduil caught the boy as he pitched forward suddenly, collapsing to the ground. He drew the prince anxiously into his arms, rocking him gently as the boy began to tremble and moan from some kind of pain. Legolas huddled anxiously against his father, shutting his eyes tightly. Gandalf had joined them as soon as the prince had rushed in, and now felt his forehead anxiously.

"He has a fever, Thranduil," Gandalf murmured worriedly. The Woodland King looked up at him with anxious eyes before his gaze dropped once again to his child. Abruptly, Thranduil stood, holding Legolas tightly and immediately began towards the door to take him to the boy's chambers.

"Daernesta!" He called anxiously when Legolas began to moan aloud. The healer was there within seconds and took the prince from his arms.

"He is ill again!" The healer exclaimed worriedly. "This cannot be-" He stopped when a scream broken into his sentence. A servant came tearing down the corridor, eyes wide with horror.

"My lord," he gasped breathlessly, pointing from where he came. "My lord, come at once! Something terrible has been discovered!" Thranduil placed a fervent kiss on his child's brow then darted down the corridor, following the servant up the twisting paths, leading him towards the cavern exit. Nothing could have prepared him for what the Woodland King saw next when he rounded the final corner and beheld the scene of horror.

Something glimmered oddly on the wall, and moving closer Thranduil realized that blood had been smeared across the smooth stone walls. But it had not been carelessly smeared across ten feet of the wall, but had instead been daubed in the form of _words._

BEHIND THE MASK OF INNOCENCE YOU SHALL FIND ME.

IF YOU BREAK THE MASK, I WILL NOT DIE, BUT YOU SHALL.

TREAD WISELY, FOR BEHIND THE MASK, I SEE ALL.

Murmurs spread like wildfire through the corridor, each fair voice repeating the bloody riddle drawn in large, clear letters across the wall. But the inscription was not the worst of it.

"_Look!" _Someone gasped.

And there, below the writing, was the bloodied mass left of a body. One of the maidens huddled in one of the clusters of Elves cried out and threw herself to the ground before the body and began to kiss and caress a cold hand anxiously, wailing aloud as she did so.

"Tidurian! My beloved Tidurian!"

An Elf stepped forward and pulled his daughter from her lover's body, and she promptly collapsed sobbing into her father's arms. The girl was correct; the sharp eyes of the youth that gazed in shock up into space were unmistakably Tidurian's. Thranduil stepped forward numbly, gazing down at the sentry that had provided him so much information about his child, the sentry who now lay dead in a pool of blood, his throat slashed brutally. Save for the mournful wails of the distraught maiden, the corridor was deathly silent as people stood in silent apprehension, gazing down upon one of their people who had been viciously murdered. And then Thranduil saw the bloody eye drawn upon on the center of Tidurian's tunic, a cruel mark drawn in blood as a reminder of anyone who drew near that this Elf had been struck down by a terrible enemy. An idea bursting into his head, Thranduil knelt down and hastily ripped open the young Elf's shirt, searching anxiously for what he knew would be there. The maiden, seeing her king search her beloved's body hastily and carelessly, threw herself at Thranduil and ripped his strong hands away from Tidurian, leaving raw red lines on the back of his hands where she had dragged her fingernails through flesh.

"_Daro!_ Leave the dead in peace!" She cried angrily, her eyes shining defiantly with tears and agony. Her fair face was contorted in pain and grief, her flesh unusually pale and flushed. She would have been beautiful if she was not so angry and her heart had not been breaking.

"Peace, my lady," Thranduil soothed quietly, touching the maiden's shoulder tenderly. "I have no intention of showing disrespect to Lord Tidurian. I only wish to search for what I believe may be with his body. I ask for your forgiveness, fair maiden, in hope that you will pardon a troubled father."

The maiden studied the king long, her blue eyes hard. But then they softened, and her gaze dropped away. She reached for one of Thranduil's stinging hands and brought it to her cool lips in a loyal, submissive kiss. "Nay, it is I who should ask for forgiveness, my king," she whispered sadly. "I acted on the behalf of my anger, and my pain at Tidurian's death, and I have no right to carry my suffering out on others. You have much on your mind, I am sure. With your leave, my lord, I shall retire to mourn in private."

Thranduil nodded his consent briefly, and without a second glance the maiden was gone. Wearily, the Woodland King placed a hand over the still breast of the sentry before him, closing his eyes and sighing as the weight of what had transpired settled heavily upon his shoulders. But then he felt something strange. A rough piece of paper was tucked inside of the tunic, and the king withdrew it with a small gasp. Unfolding the note, Thranduil scanned it hurriedly, feeling his heart sink as his thoughts were confirmed in the writing he found:

_This is your one chance, Thranduil. The mask will be cast away once my plans are through, whether or not they succeed. I do, however, give you choices: surrender your kingdom and I shall keep your mask intact and your people I will spare. If you do not wish to do so, I can break the mask just as easily, for it is but a dying autumn leaf in my fingers and will shatter at the slightest touch, and I shall destroy your realm. You will find five thousand Orcs stationed not twenty leagues south of you. Send word to them of your answer. If you fail to do so within a fortnight, I will give the order to attack. You will die and your people will be destroyed. The choices are yours. You have been warned._

Beneath the last sentence was drawn a cruel eye, the same eye that the body and previous note bore. When Thranduil gazed again upon Tidurian, he did not see a dead sentry, but his sleeping child, the loose tunic unfastened and gaping open as he laid quietly, his eyes shut tightly against the nightmares that plagued him. And from the shadows of the open tunic an eye gleamed darkly, carved deep into his flesh.

"My lord?"

Taking a deep, shuddering breath, Thranduil shut his eyes tightly, forcing himself not to think of the horrible vision. He turned around, and suddenly Saeldur and Gandalf were standing there, both gazing expectantly at him. He stared back at them for a long moment, his mind working furiously, and he struggled to focus on the present.

"Send my people back to their homes and order them to speak nothing of what they saw," Thranduil ordered at last. "Double the watch on my son; have two guards watching him at all times, even as he sleeps."

Saeldur frowned. "The prince? Surely you mean-"

"Please, Saeldur. Obey my orders without question and trust me, my friend," Thranduil said wearily, passing a hand over his face. "Remove the body and find someone to clean the walls and floor, _saes._"

"Yes, my lord." With that, Saeldur disappeared, running off to direct orders to the responsible persons. Within moments the crowds had dispersed and filtered back to their homes outside or in the palace, leaving Thranduil and Gandalf alone.

Gandalf watched as Thranduil gazed forlornly down upon Tidurian's body, the king standing in perfect silence save for the crackling torches about him. To the wizard, the Woodland King suddenly looked weary and grieving, the flickering torches casting dark shadows beneath his eyes and making his flesh appear stretched and thin. _He has seen too much for a king as young as he; I fear that he will not last long if his son stays in the same condition as he is now._

"Thranduil, do you believe that Sauron has played a part in this?"

"I do. The marking upon the body, it is unmistakable. But true question is: did my child play a part in this? Is he the one behind it all?" Thranduil stared down upon Tidurian, his eyes dark with dread and worry. But suddenly, he turned and smiled wanly at Gandalf.

"Ask me no more questions this night, Mithrandir," Thranduil implored softly, noticing how the words of the wizard's next question seem to visibly die upon his lips. "I shall speak to you in the morning. Then we shall discover what role my child is playing in this terrible game…" the king paused, his eyes still boring into the wizard's, but they visibly softened and his voice dropped low. "…and whether or not I can save him from fate."

And then Thranduil was gone.


	30. XXIX: Temptation

**Mask of Innocence**

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_Alrighty everyone, here's the chapter I both love and hate the most. I would like to issue a warning for this chapter for violence and graphic scenes, so proceed with caution. I do assure you, however, that it does not go over a PG-13 rating. Stupid wrist still hurts so I'm still wearing the splint, and I'm beginning to feel a dull ache growing at the moment, so I shall give my wrist a rest and let you read. Please review!_

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**Chapter Twenty-nine: Temptation**

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"…**The devil said to him, "I shall give to you all this power and their glory;**

**for it has been handed over to me, and I may give it to whomever I wish. **

**All this will be yours, if you worship me…"**

**Luke 4: 6-7**

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A lightning storm hung heavily over the realm of the Elves this night, the only light that of the flickering lightning in the sky that briefly illuminated the dripping trees. Figures cloaked in starlight drifted beneath the forest canopy that sheltered them from the majority of the storm's fury, their voices soft and sweet as they sang of the days when their forest was green and full of light, when there was no shadow, no enemy, no death amongst them. Already they were mourning the sentry's death, their hushed voices speaking of nothing but the vile act committed. Many of those who were not under the trees of their home were resting in their private chambers, with family or friends, asleep in their talans or their rooms in the palace. Everything and everyone were peaceful and still in the Woodland Realm.

Everyone, save for one.

Inside the grand palace of the Elven-king, a door suddenly creaked open that led into the inner chambers. A little, thin figure slipped in without a sound, his feet making no noise as he padded swiftly across the floor, his movements fluid and graceful. His eyes were locked upon the sleeping figure. He walked slowly yet swiftly, his footsteps unheard by the ears of the world. All focus was upon his target, the one who would die this night.

The figure in the bed stirred suddenly. The small one froze instantly, not daring to breathe, his heart pounding in his ears. When it became evident that the figure was not awakening, he continued, and in seconds he was at the bedside, gazing down upon his target with both lust and hatred.

The beautiful golden figure was the every image of a king, his features smooth and relaxed in sleep. His shimmering gold hair lay limp upon the pillow, the lightning reflecting in his hair and in his eyes. _Ai,_ his eyes were pure beauty. Emerald glinted like sparkling gems in the Elf's open eyes, glazed over as his body sought respite in sleep and his mind sought strength through the visions of the world. The small figure gazed down upon him with a mocking smile, looking forward to the task that lay before him. Once he was finished, these emerald eyes would never see the light of day again.

But he suddenly blinked and stumbled backwards. His mind whirled suddenly, and he staggered blindly as visions swirled before his eyes.

_There was fire. The trees were burning, the red flames licking at their beautiful golden barks and their bright leaves, the heat curling and scorching the foliage. He walked through the fire, seemingly with no purpose even as his legs carried him northeast. The air was heavy with smoke and tasted metallic as screams and cries of anguish filled the air with chaos. He passed a pool of water, the color of blood as mangled bodies lay strewn through the clearing. Amongst them lay a slain buck, a young one, with an arrow through its heart. Its eyes were gouged out, blood pouring down its neck and belly, a gruesome sight to behold. He passed these with no more than a passing glance, but the vision was burned into his mind nonetheless. He kept walking automatically. He did not know where he was going, but his legs did._

_Soon he drifted out of the smoking forest and beheld the sacked palace. The river rushed in front of it, dark and murky with blood and bodies as the great fire cast an eerie red glow upon the entire mountainside. He continued to walk, unable to tear himself from this nightmare, feeling growing anxiety and terror swell within him with every step he took closer to the palace. Suddenly he was across the bridge and drifting up the steps, slick with blood and gore, and was standing before the broken and shattered golden gates, which now lay in splintered pieces at the ground, revealing the gaping cavern mouth. He easily stepped over the rubble and the slain guards that had died defending the palace, and was inside._

The small one shuddered suddenly, regaining control once again from the vision that had penetrated his mind. He pulled himself back from the inner recesses of his mind, trying to focus back on task, but without warning he was sucked back harshly, and was trapped in the vision yet again.

_There was no one inside the palace. No bodies, no blood, no fire. The place, however, was ravaged and sacked; tables, candles, carvings, tapestries, all assortments of Elven-crafted items were smashed and destroyed. The walls were bare, and all treasure was gone. He paid no heed to the destroyed possessions that lay strewn about the floor, but instead turned down the corridor that led to the royal chambers._

_He passed one set of chambers and instead headed down the hall to another, grander set of chambers. He walked in. The chamber was literally in pieces; all furniture had been reduced to kindling, the documents and parchment shredded and strewn throughout, the books yanked from the shelves and tossed in the corner, the tapestries, blankets, and rugs askew. But in the center was a bed, and upon the bed lay the dead king._

_He found himself suddenly by the dead Elf's side, gazing down upon the fair king who had been impaled with a dagger. Blood was everywhere upon him, the crimson contrasting sharply with his waxen flesh. His eyes were closed, and he was still, his face set in an eternal expression of pain and shock. He reached forward with a trembling hand to touch the Elf, but in an instant the body disappeared, and there was nothing. Spinning around, he suddenly found himself face-to-face with a great mirror, and there he saw his reflection._

_Dark, menacing eyes gazed out from the shadowy recesses of his pale, thin face. His hair hung limp and stray around him, beautiful yet lifeless at once. Bright blood dripped from his fingers, from his hands, and from his chest where, in the center, the tunic was burned and blackened, revealing an inflamed carving that was scorched and angry. It burned mercilessly upon his flesh, like dried blood biting and gnawing away at the most hardened of swords. He was terrifyingly beautiful in his darkness, yet he knew it was a lie, for inside he knew lay a blackened and shriveled heart. But what terrified him, and at the same time awed him, was the crown of springtime flowers that rested upon his brow._

_/The king's crown…/_

_Tentatively, he reached up and touched it. The metal and flowers burned his fingers, and he recoiled. But the power that emanated from it intimidated and amazed him. Extreme control and willpower radiated from it, surrounding his body in a glowing aura of greatness. A voice whispered in the back of his mind that this is what would happen if he carried through with his task; he would become king, but his realm and people would be utterly destroyed._

"_Listen to your heart, young one, and you will know what path is right." A voice was speaking to him, soft and fair yet mighty at once, but it brought forth terrible thoughts and a strange sense of hatred._

"_I have no heart! I am black and terrible, just like my master, and I take no orders from the enemy!" the small one hissed sharply._

"_Very good, my little prince," a familiar voice murmured suddenly, low and sweet. Although dark and foreboding, it was like heaven to the little one's ears. "You **are**__terrible, but you are great and possess much power. You know what is right. Follow me, for I can make you king. The enemy will strip you of your crown as prince, and you will suffer. Kill the king, and I shall give you his crown in his stead."_

With an almost mute gasp he lurched back to the surface, and he found himself gazing down upon the still figure of the king, the king whose flesh was not waxen and cold, who had no blood spilling from a wound in his chest. This one was pure, living beauty. He wavered for a moment, the vision flashing before his eyes as the battle between darkness and light ensued.

"_Worship me, and you will be great…"_

"_Come back to the light, and you will have hope again…"_

"_Kill him, and you will be king…"_

"_Spare him, and you will be renowned for your righteousness…"_

"_Kill him, my little Elfling…Kill him…"_

"_No, child, do not listen to the enemy! He strives to turn you against what is right!"_

"_Nothing that remains right lives, for in this world all who is righteous dies! Join me, my prince, and you will live and be great! You will possess wonderful power, unending glory, and you shall be king! Kill the fool!"_

The small one suddenly smiled.

"You wish is my command, my master."

A small hand suddenly gripped something at his side and pulled it from his belt. A dagger flashed silver in the moonlight as it was raised above his head, knuckles white as he gripped the hilt of the blade tightly. The sleeping king in bed stirred yet again, his brow furrowing as he returned to the surface and he realized that he was not alone. The small one's grip on the dagger, however, did not waver, only strengthening as he prepared himself for what he had to do.

Legolas smiled down upon his father when the emerald eyes focused, when the king's mouth opened in a choked cry, when the dagger was brought down with a faint swish of air and slid easily through the Elf's flesh, embedding itself into his muscular chest.

And Thranduil saw, before a red haze slipped over his eyes, his fair child bending over him, and with a choked gasp of defeat he clutched at the beautiful dagger within him. Everything slowed to a snail's pace, time seeming to slow and take twice the amount of time to pass, and Thranduil closed his emerald eyes. His warm blood trickled from the wound as he slid to the side, gravity taking control as his body threatened to slip off the bed, and he collapsed to the cold stone floor. The Woodland King accidentally jarred the dagger in his chest, and he winced, but gave no sound of pain. His thoughts flew to his child, his precious boy. He had failed to protect him, and now they would suffer. He heard his son kneel before him, and he looked up desperately, wishing to see, one last time, the bright sapphire eyes that sparkled with innocence. As a single, silver tear splashed onto the hard floor and was immersed into a growing puddle of crimson, a sigh escaped Thranduil's lips.

The last thing Thranduil ever saw, before he slipped out of thought and time, was fire burning in his child's eyes as the boy grinned darkly down upon the dying king.

**TBC**

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_(wields sword and shield bravely) You may flame me, hurt me, curse me, but I shall stand fast against the onslaught of angry and troubled reviewers! (drops sword) Oh, and here's a tissue box for everyone, you all might need it soon. ;)_


	31. XXX: The Death of Two Kings

**Mask of Innocence**

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_Because it would be impossibly difficult to purchase, wrap, and mail gifts to each and every one of you, I decided to post a chapter instead. I hope you like it, even if it is not quite keeping in the positive, joyful holiday spirit. Merry Christmas!_

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_**Chapter Thirty: The Death of Two Kings**

"…He is dying, Mithrandir."

"And what of the prince?"

"He will recover in time, but I cannot say the same for his mind and heart."

Consciousness returned very slowly to Legolas as he struggled to surface. His vision was blurred and hazy when his eyes finally cracked open, and his head ached terribly. It felt as if a party of Dwarves had spent the night smashing his skull open with their clubs and axes. The conversation that was being carried on outside in the hall, however, caught his attention immediately.

"But he will live?" Legolas recognized the light, youthful voice as that of Taidîr.

"Yes, he will, probably because of the great amount of strength the king gave him yesterday. His heart is very weak, and he must rest for the next week, but he will live," A warm, gentle voice answered; it was Daernesta. There was a weary sigh. "His father, however, will not."

Legolas sucked in a breath sharply, immediately awake. _What has happened to Ada! _He started to sit up, but his energy was all but spent, and he slid despondently back under the covers as his head hit the soft pillow.

"What happened, Daernesta?" Gandalf was speaking now, his baritone, gruff voice sharp with concern.

"I found them this morning, at dawn. Legolas had collapsed outside the door to the chambers, blood dripping from his hands and leaving a trail from inside. Thranduil lay upon the ground next to his bed, a knife thrust in his chest. He was unconscious and had lost much blood. The boy was found with blood upon his hands that had created a trail from the king's body. The balcony doors were bolted shut, so the assailant did not enter from outside. There were no signs of a struggle. Thranduil appeared to have fallen from his bed after he had been stabbed or had been standing or kneeling on the floor when it occurred, for there were no bloodstains upon the bed."

Legolas' eyes widened, and he clutched the bed covers tightly in his anxiety. _I was in Ada's chambers last night!_

"Are you saying that Legolas is responsible for stabbing his father?" Saeldur exclaimed incredulously. There was a pause in which only Legolas could hear his heartbeat pounding in his ears.

"The evidence simply suggests that. I chose neither guilt nor innocence," Daernesta responded softly. "Good day to you, my lords."

There were the faint echoes of light footsteps disappearing down the corridor, and Legolas knew that Daernesta had left. A stunned silence ensued, and then everyone (apparently many councilors had gathered there along with the healer, chief advisor, wizard, and captain) began talking at once.

"He could not have possibly done this!" Saeldur insisted.

"Our king dies by the hand of his own son?" Many exclaimed in horror.

"What evil has befallen us now!" Taidîr cried out.

"Silence!" A deep voice shouted.

Everyone was quiet again, and Legolas lay trembling in bed, waiting for Gandalf to continue.

"Now, we must think logically, my lords," Gandalf continued thoughtfully. "All evidence points to Legolas, so we now must believe that he is the attacker. However," he cleared his throat as many began to protest, and they quickly silenced, "we need not shackle him and lock him away. Although, this does bring about curious questions that need answering, and I believe we shall place Lord Taidîr as guard over the boy until we understand more. Lord Taidîr, you will simply watch and follow him to ensure that he stays out of trouble, understand? You are _not_ being hired to guard a criminal."

"Yes, Mithrandir. I understand."

Gandalf continued to talk, but Legolas did not hear it. His heart was pounding so loudly that he seemed deaf, and rolling over he buried his face in his hands.

_They think I tried to kill Ada! I never went in his chambers last night! But if they say I was there, and they found me with blood upon my hands, I must have done it. After all, I do not remember why I am here. Perhaps I did try to kill him. Perhaps I am the assailant. Perhaps I am the one who is guilty of trying to kill my Ada…_

Feeling hot tears sting his eyes, Legolas moaned softly as a sob escaped his lips. _Ada…no…_

Suddenly there was the soothing touch of the healer upon his back, and some of the pain lessened in his head. He was gently rolled back over, and he opened his eyes to gaze upon Daernesta with tears slipping down his face.

"Will _Ada_ die?" Legolas whispered tearfully. Daernesta's eyes softened, his thumb gently caressing the boy's wet cheek as he nodded slightly.

"Yes," he murmured softly, and his eyes did not drop from Legolas' heart-wrenching gaze until the child broke into desperate sobs and lay crying to himself, and then the healer carefully gathered Legolas into his arms, rocking him comfortingly. Daernesta's voice lifted in a soft lullaby, the soothing Elven words and tears easing Legolas' pain.

"Did I hurt him, Daernesta?" came a sudden muffled voice from Daernesta's robes. "Did I try to kill _Ada_?"

The healer stiffened at the words, but calmingly began to rock him again. "I know not, child," he murmured in return. "Did you?"

"I must have, for why else would _Ada_ be hurt?" Legolas returned, a sob wracking his frames yet again.

"I do not know, little one," Daernesta replied softly. "Get some rest; you are weary and very ill."

Legolas nodded weakly and settled back into the bed, curling into a tight ball. As he did, his hand strayed to the pendant that suddenly glimmered upon his breast, and toyed with it anxiously. He gazed at the wall for a long moment as he fondled the beautiful charm, tears glistening in his light eyes. "Will _Ada_ be with _Nana_ and Imrathon when he dies?" Legolas asked suddenly, his eyes still not meeting Daernesta's.

"Yes, he will be, _tithen-ernil,_" the healer responded gently. Legolas turned his head to the side so that he could look Daernesta in the eyes now.

"Make sure _Ada_ tells Imrathon that I miss him, _saes?_"

Daernesta smiled mirthlessly. His hand soothingly stroked the fine, silk baby hair that Legolas still possessed. "Of course, Legolas."

"_Hannon le," _Legolas closed his eyes and snuggled deep under the covers, a slight tremor slipping down his spine as a few tears escaped his barriers, and fell asleep. Daernesta smiled somewhat encouragingly at Taidîr, who had entered earlier and now had seated himself nearby. They began to converse in their own speech, speaking softly in low voices in the smooth, rich tongue. When Gandalf entered, he saw two Elves of old, images of the beauty and splendor of Valinor itself, seated and conversing nobly. Neither started nor broke their speech as the wizard entered, but simply continued to speak to one another, expressionless and yet strong and fair at once. Gandalf, leaving them to their privacy, easily tuned out the conversation, despite the fact that he understood Sindarin. He settled down next to Legolas, gazing at the young Elf with curious, observant clear eyes. The child was nothing short of beautiful, the fair characteristics of his race bestowing a beauty like no other on the frame of this small one. He was a symbol of innocence for the entire race. _And, perhaps, the world._

Suddenly Taidîr and Daernesta had finished speaking; they had reached some kind of agreement. Daernesta, who had stopped his ministrations over the sleeping child when he had been speaking, resumed his task of spreading warm blankets over the prince. For a moment, his solemn, light eyes flickered between the wizard and child curiously, as if trying to read what had transpired between the two. When Gandalf met his gaze, the healer held it for a long moment until his eyes dropped away, and slowly he continued to smooth out the creases in the wool blankets, closing his eyes briefly as if in pain. He bent over Legolas and murmured gently to him, placing a hand over his forehead as he performed some kind of healing magic, and then kissed the brow of the unconscious boy with father-like love.

When Gandalf gave the healer a questioning look, Daernesta smiled dimly. "We have decided that I will take in the child to raise, when the king…when we lose him," Daernesta announced softly, his voice slightly rough. "He would have been raised by his father or mother's parents, and if that failed then Lord Imrathon, but seeing as that is not possible," he cleared his throat slightly, and sat a little straighter, striving to ignore the tears that now sparkled in his crystal eyes. "The duty of raising the future king will fall to me."

Gandalf nodded once, dropping his gaze to the floor. "Legolas will succeed Thranduil?" he asked abruptly.

"Yes, when he is older. We will not put it off far, but enough that he is wise enough to make decisions without incredible pressure from the council, for sometimes the council is somewhat, _corrupted_," Daernesta added, glancing at Saeldur with a small, sad smile. Saeldur, who had retreated to a chair next to the prince's bed smiled faintly back at him, but neither of their smiles reached their eyes.

"I see," Gandalf said thoughtfully. He paused for a moment. "You sound very convinced that Thranduil will die," he stated.

Daernesta flinched slightly. "It was a fatal wound," he answered softly, averting the wizard's eyes. "He will die within the hour, I am sure of it. It has been a miracle that he lasted so long. Perhaps the Valar wishes to let him see his son, one last time, even if we choose to believe that he is actually responsible for his death."

As the healer spoke these words, all eyes came to rest upon the little prince that lay in the bed, wondering if indeed this small, innocent child could be responsible for killing their mighty, great king.

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"Taidîr?"

The captain looked up from the patrol summaries he had been struggling to concentrate on and found Legolas awake and gazing at him with tearful eyes. He immediately put aside the stack of parchment and quill and knelt beside the little prince. The look in the child's eyes was suddenly disturbing, as if there was some kind of pain that suddenly tore at his soul, some kind of horrible knowledge that was consuming him. Worried for the child's well-being, Taidîr came to the boy's side at once.

"Yes, Legolas?"

"May I have a piece of parchment, and a quill, please?" the child asked softly, his voice weak and on the verge of tears. The look in the boy's eyes was now suddenly gone. Sorrow had simply replaced it. _Curse inheritance altogether, for I believe that Legolas has inherited his father's uncanny ability to mask his features that is good even for one of the Elves._

Taidîr easily pulled a sheet of clean parchment from his stack of papers and gave the child his own quill to write with after dipping it in ink. Legolas nodded his thanks, and turned his eyes to the parchment, smoothing it out neatly on the bed. He began to write, his small hand forming the elegant letters slowly. Taidîr watched him silently, the hint of a smile playing at his lips as he watched the boy concentrate on his words so hard. He did not, however, read over his shoulder; he deemed it not his job to be breathing down the boy's neck every moment of the day. Instead, he turned back to his papers that called to be completed, and dutifully began to critique the summaries yet again. Taidîr did not see the tear that splashed down upon Legolas' parchment as he wrote, nor did he see the child fold the parchment up carefully and perfectly. But just before he finished folding the letter, he reached up about his neck and unfastened a beautiful charm that hung there. Kissing the charm lovingly, he then tucked it inside the little note and creased it tightly.

"Taidîr?"

Again Taidîr looked up from his work to find the child sitting upright in bed, a thin smile upon his lips. "May I sit on the bridge outside? I wish to see the river."

Taidîr pushed aside the parchment and got up. "Of course, Legolas." He wrapped the prince in a thick, warm blanket, and lifted him up, striding easily out the door. Only a few steps down the corridor, however, Legolas suddenly grabbed a fistful of Taidîr's tunic. The captain stopped.

"I want to see _Ada._"

Taidîr glanced hesitantly to the shut door next to them, knowing that Thranduil lay in the bed just beyond it and was perhaps on his last breath. He opened his mouth to deny the child, but the heartbroken and tearful gaze of the boy nearly shattered his heart, and instead he nodded in consent. Saeldur, who had been pacing outside the door anxiously, let them in after knocking quietly.

Inside, it was nearly pitch-black. Only a few candles were lit, and the balcony windows and doors were shut and locked tightly. The early spring air still bore some chill, and the extremely weakened state of Thranduil would not tolerate even the normal air of the room without the aide of blankets and the crackling fire. Daernesta was swabbing the king's brow lightly with a damp rag, and barely looked up when Taidîr entered with Legolas in his arms.

The king could have been mistaken for dead already. Thranduil lay stretched out on a bed with blankets covering his waist and below, his flesh thin and waxen over his strong frame. His torso was bare save for the bandages that were drawn tight over the deep stab wound. The bandages were so great in number that the blood had not leaked through them yet. But it was the state of the king that terrified Legolas the most. He looked so much like the Ada he knew, but he knew it was not. This strange Ada was nearly dead. His skin was the color of the wax from a candle, and sweat glistened upon his brow from fever. It was as if the spirit had already fled the body, but the heart still beat ever so softly, ever so weakly, each beat becoming harder and harder to accomplish as he began to fade away.

A soft sob slipped past Legolas' lips, and he reached anxiously for his silent, unconscious father. Taidîr carefully set him down next to Thranduil, laying him gently next to the king so the child could be with his father, and stepped back to allow the boy and his father some privacy. Daernesta did the same.

"Where is the wound?" Taidîr asked the healer quietly as they watched Legolas lay with his head upon his father's side carefully, eyes closed.

"The left breast," Legolas answered, shifting his pose slightly to a more comfortable position. "I remember that now."

Taidîr cast one questioning look at Daernesta before stepping forward and gently uncovering Thranduil's chest. And there in the left breast, just left of the beating heart within the mighty king, was the horrible stab wound. It had been stitched closed long ago, but still it leaked blood.

"For the love of Ilúvatar, he was right," Taidîr breathed. Daernesta joined him, nodding silently. Legolas was oblivious to them, and he curled his arms carefully around his father's abdomen and snuggled close, tears slipping down his face. Thranduil did not react to his son's touch, for he remained perfectly still and silent, wandering deliriously within his mind. It was a horrible sight. To see a young, crying child clutching at his _adar's _body with so much love and devotion, but receive nothing in return was terrible. Thranduil was so still and quiet, and the slightest movement was not to be seen when his child had latched onto him. The furrowed brow had not smoothened, the fever had not abated, and the heart had not discontinued its erratic beats and return to normal. The slightest change for good had not occurred in the king, and Daernesta thought with a sinking heart that if the king did not react to his own pride and joy, the one thing that would perhaps keep him alive, Thranduil was indeed doomed.

"He has lost too much blood to live, Taidîr," the healer stated sadly.

Taidîr turned to him in slight surprise. "But you have closed the wound! Surely that would be enough to help him regain-"

"But alas, it is not," Daernesta interrupted softly. "I had the same hope, but he had lost so much…nothing can give him back the blood he needs. His body cannot produce it fast enough. This will be the child's last visit, Taidîr," Daernesta's voice suddenly dropped low with those last words. "I suggest you take him away, and quickly. I do not wish for the boy to witness his father's end, an end that should never have occurred."

"I shall," Taidîr promised softly. He turned to Legolas. "Child, did you not want to see the river? Come, let us leave this terrible place." Legolas nodded tearfully, offering no resistance, and as Taidîr turned back to Daernesta to give thanks for the brief visit the child slipped something into the belt of the king's leggings. No one saw him, he made sure of it. Then, he reached for Taidîr, and was whisked up and away, and not a moment too soon; for just then did Daernesta feel the heartbeat of his king slow and his spirit to make its sure and slow descent into the land of the dead, and the healer knew that Thranduil was truly left with mere minutes.

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Legolas sat dangling his feet off the edge of the bridge, watching the waters churn beneath him in rushing rapids with white foam and froth swirl at its surface. The river was truly terrifying yet beautiful this morning; it had rained the night before, and the water from the mountains north now surged with fury. His silken hair stirred in the whisper of a breeze on this bright morning. Taidîr stood nearby, leaning against the rail of the bridge next to Legolas, watching the trees rustle in the gentle wind, his eyes misty as he enveloped himself in his own thoughts. Legolas, like the captain, was thinking hard also, but tears slipped down his fair face as he did. He took a slow, steadying breath, gazing down at the river with a sudden kind of finality. He glanced back up at the balcony he had just left, hoping for a glimpse of his father. There was none. Instead, a single bell began to ring, low and mournful.

Taidîr, next to him, gave a sudden gasp, and turned towards the balcony.

"No…" he breathed, staring in horror at the balcony. The bell continued to toll. Legolas frowned, gazing at him in confusion. "No…not the king…"

_Ada._

Legolas' eyes widened as it dawned upon him. He watched in numb shock as Taidîr drifted towards the end of the bridge, still staring at the balcony. And then, deep inside him, something happened. A sudden rush of dark happiness and joy caused his stomach to roll uncomfortably, an odd delight that terrified him. He felt something within him expand, and he realized with a sinking heart that his connection with Sauron had just intensified hugely. Darkness and evil rushed up to him, threatening to yank him down into the abyss below, cackling and jeering with silent voices at him. It felt as though there was a second body shoved into his own, and his thoughts and soul seemed squished and weighted down, and yet he felt utterly naked to the world, his thoughts and heart laid bare before the Dark Lord. And it was in that moment that he realized that Sauron had triumphed, that Thranduil was dead, and that his home, his friends, his people, would all be destroyed.

But then something else happened.

The winds picked up around him, swirling about the child and encircling him with its warm caresses, and a new power rushed at him. Legolas whimpered slightly, bracing himself for the final blow of darkness that would surely send him into the abyss gaping before him in his mind, but instead something different poured into his heart. Power swirled about him, growing closer and closer, but not choking him. It descended down upon him, slipping into his being gently but he felt the might and greatness of the change sweep through him like he had been struck atop the head. Only, it did not hurt. Instead, it felt the opposite; it was warm and comforting, soothing and delicious. It felt oddly familiar, like he had experienced this type of…of love and tenderness before. The thoughts brought forth images and sounds of laughter, happiness…Strong hands gripped his waist, and he squealed as he was spun about in the air…Beautiful, ringing laughter echoed down the corridor as he skipped on the stone floor…A soft, soothing lullaby filled his ears as a rich tenor's voice lifted in song, rocking him to sleep…Colorful foliage swirled above as he wrestled on the earth with a strong, lithe figure…And then, he saw fair, sparkling green eyes, glittering with happiness and love, framed by silken locks of golden hair.

_Ada._

_This is Ada's love, his power, his soul, his being. It has all been given to me; his power and glory. _

_I am king now. This is what this means; Ada has left his power and crown to me._

The strength and will to become the rightful king reverberated throughout his body, and he felt his _faer _rise in song, harmonizing and leading the song of the forest in joy and happiness. And he rejoiced, feeling his heart soar and the burden upon his shoulders lighten even as the duty to govern his father's people fell to him. And he was truly happy, for the first time in many days.

And then it was suddenly gone. There had been a quiet, dark cackle that reverberated in his ears, and the happiness had disappeared as horror and terror rushed at him. He knew what would happen with him as king. He remembered, in that instant, the vision he had had before he stabbed his father, of his people's slaughter, of his tyranny, and of the destruction of the last realm that would stand in Sauron's way to attack Rivendell and the other lands surrounding Mirkwood. He knew that he could not let this happen. Resolve filled his heart with courage and caused it to beat strongly and wildly in his ears. He knew what he had to do to save his people, and he knew it was his duty to do so, now that he was king.

And then, Legolas made his move.

The prince reached out and seized Taidîr's sword from its sheath as he passed, and it slid easily from the scabbard and into his hands. Taidîr spun about, reaching for his weapon already, but Legolas beat him to it. But before he knew what was happening, Taidîr felt an explosion of pain in his stomach as he felt the pommel of his sword shoved into his stomach, and he slumped to the ground with a soft gasp. He gazed up at Legolas in mute confusion, but was suddenly taken aback by the look in Legolas' eyes; behind the tears, he saw a glimpse of madness, of finality, and of acceptance of what was to come…

Then the hilt of his sword came in contact with Taidîr's temple, and flashes of light came to him before darkness.

"Please forgive me, Taidîr," Legolas murmured after a moment of staring down at his friend that he had just rendered unconscious. Legolas gazed down upon Taidîr with mixed emotions, regretting his actions instantly but knowing it would be the only way to save him from the end he knew would come. Gently laying the sword by its master, Legolas gave one last, apologetic look at his friend who lay sprawled upon the ground, unconscious because of his doing. He climbed up on the railing of the bridge, seizing a large rock as he did, gripping it tightly in hand. Slowly he looked down at the water. It churned with anger below him. By now he was shaking with terror. Legolas closed his eyes and swallowed.

_It's now or never,_ he thought.

Legolas looked back down at the churning water beneath him, and took a deep breath, watching as his tears mixed in with the water beneath him. Slowly, Legolas closed his eyes and thought about his father. The gentle fragrance of damp spring flowers reached him, and a faint smile flickered on his lips. He looked back down again at the river, the water that would become his tomb, the water that could take him to his dead family in Aman.

"Goodbye, _Ada_. I shall see you soon," Legolas whispered. _It is the right thing,_ he told himself. _You must do this to save your people. It is the right thing, and it is your duty. You no longer need do this because you hate yourself for the deeds you have committed, but you must do this for the good of the realm. This is the only way you can save them._

And so he jumped.

The immortal king of the Woodland Realm looked, for the last time, upon his home and realm before it disappeared beneath the surface of the River Running. As his body sank beneath the surface, carried down to the river bottom as he gripped the rock still, he closed his eyes, thinking last upon his great father who died by his hand. He saw the emerald eyes, glinting with happiness, as they gazed down upon him, the smooth lips curved in a welcoming smile. Another figure came into his view, a beautiful, fair woman. Her eyes glittered brightly, her lips the color of rose petals as she smiled at him lovingly, her dark curls falling in a shimmering curtain about her pale shoulders. _Come, little one. _Her warm hand was extended, beckoning to the child to follow her and join her and her husband. Legolas reached forward with his own small fingers and grasped his mother's hand, feeling warmth spread throughout his shivering body when they touched, and all thought and time fled from him.

**TBC**

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_Merry Christmas to everyone, and I dearly hope you are having a much better life than Legolas and Thranduil's. ;) I apologize if this chapter was not exactly the best chapter for a Christmas present, butit's the thought that counts, am I right? ;) _

_Please stay safe if you are traveling over the holidays, and may peace and happiness find the way into everyone's homes and hearts during this wonderful season. Don't forget to help those who do not possess what you have, who need a helping hand now more than ever as the weather gets colder (at least where I am.) Thank you to all my reviewers and readers, and have a wonderful holiday. And try not to get too drunk on New Year's... ;)_

_Merry Christmas, Happy Holidays, and have a wonderful New Year._

_-ArcherGal2932_


	32. XXXI: Following

**Mask of Innocence

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****Chapter Thirty-one: Following**

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"**Eternity begins and ends with the ocean's tides."**

**-Unknown**

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_Moments earlier_

The echoing footsteps in the corridor spoke of nothing but utter importance and urgency. As they drew nearer, the fair yet distressed voices grew in volume and quantity. Soon Gandalf rounded the corner, his brow furrowed and eyes dark. He pushed past the cluster of weeping councilors and threw open the door, blinking in the sudden darkness as his sharp eyes adjusted. As soon as he could see once more, the wizard was at the side of Daernesta, who no longer sat bent over the king. Instead, he was kneeling on the floor, a hand pressed to the side of a pale neck and eyes closed. The eyes flickered open barely for an instant when the wizard entered and joined him.

Gandalf let out a soft sigh when he sat down next to Thranduil, gazing down upon the young king who should have seen many more years. _Nay, not more years, an eternity. For that is the way of the Elves – immortal – they are not doomed to an ultimate end as Men are._

"He has but moments, my friend," Daernesta whispered quietly. Someone motioned for the councilors and those closest to the king to enter, and they processed in silently and solemnly, gazing down with horror upon their mighty king that now lay at the mercy of the Valar. He still did not move, and had not since they found him. He would never speak his last words, nor say farewell to those he would leave behind. Thranduil would never wake again, for he was doomed to die in his state of unconsciousness.

Seconds ticked by silently as Daernesta sat with his eyes shut tightly, waiting for the moment when the pulse no longer throbbed weakly beneath his hand and the strong torso no longer rise and fell before him. The entire room was in complete silence, the air around them seemingly crackling with the amount of anxiety and tension. And then, Daernesta's eyes opened, and removed his hand. A shocked silence ensued. No one dared speak. The healer's eyes slowly came up to meet Gandalf's, and he shook his head silently, his eyes full with tears.

"Our king…he cannot be…?" One of the councilor's blurted out, his voice hushed. Daernesta cut him off with a shake of his head.

"Aye, Lord Nedhudir, he is indeed dead," Daernesta announced quietly, his voice remarkably steady but rough. Gasps spread throughout the room like wildfire, and all eyes came to rest upon their dead king, who lay pale and waxen as his body cooled. And as they gazed upon him, they did not see a corpse, for instead they saw an image of the Elves of old, a descendant of those who awoke by the waters of the Cuiviénen and beheld the beauty and splendor of the Valar with their own bright eyes. They saw a beautiful, great king whose life was cut short by the hand of his young child, a king who wedded a fair maiden years before under the starlight, a king who remained strong and fair even in death.

A quiet weeping soon could be heard as maids and lords gathered in the hallway outside, their voices low and soft as they spoke reverently of the king they had lost. And now they wondered if the child would succeed him, and when.

"How will they tell the boy? It shall rend his heart in two when he learns. They were very close," one murmured sympathetically. Others nodded in agreement, their fair faces distressed and saddened.

"What shall we do? Only Thranduil possessed the magic to protect us. Surely they would not trust the child with the rule and power to defend us," many whispered.

And many still said nothing, as they remained still and silent, their eyes sparkling with tears as the full effect of their king's death set in upon them.

Suddenly, a ripple of murmurs and exclamations spread throughout, stemming from the corridor. "Daernesta!" a distressed voice called sharply. "Move aside, the prince is in great peril! Lord Daernesta, I seek your aide!"

Captain Taidîr suddenly came bursting through a cluster of weeping maids, breathing fast. Daernesta immediately was at his side, and gave a cry when he saw the state of him and the prince he bore limp in his arms. Blood seeped from a terrible gash on the captain's head, and he was soaked from head to foot. His eyes were somewhat glazed from pain and exhaustion, and it was a miracle that he gripped the body of Legolas still. The child lay completely sodden and unmoving, and he did not appear to be breathing. Gasps and cries of "our prince has been slain!" filled the air, and Daernesta anxiously seized Legolas from Taidîr's arms as utter chaos ensued.

"Silence!" He shouted to them, but it did very little to calm the desperate people. Daernesta shoved his way out of the room of the dead king, knowing full well that there only remained one bed in there and Thranduil's body was upon it, and fled to the room down and across the hall where Legolas had been previously. The wizard rushed to the healer's side as Daernesta bent hurriedly over Legolas' chest and mouth, listening for signs of life. An anxious look crossed his face, and immediately the healer set about reviving the soaked boy. There was no movement, no rise or fall of the chest, no flutter of eyelashes as Daernesta struggled to revive Legolas. Taidîr and Gandalf watched on in horror as Legolas still did not respond after many tense moments. Daernesta swore under his breath and tried again, pressing his hand anxiously to the small pale throat to feel for a heartbeat. Still, there was nothing.

"Please, Daernesta, wake Thranduil," Taidîr pleaded suddenly, grasping the healer's arm. "Thranduil can save him, I know it! I wish not to offend you, my friend, but it is he who has the power to bring the child back! I heard the bell, but surely you did not mean….It matters not that the king is unconscious, surely we can revive him!"

Daernesta stopped very suddenly, his eyes closing for the briefest moment. "I am sorry, Taidîr," he replied softly. "But Thranduil died not minutes ago."

Taidîr stared at him in horror. "No…" he breathed, stumbling backwards. His eyes flew to the child. "Then we have no chance to save him! You are sure that he is dead? Check his body again; he could not have died already! I will not let the child die! Please, Daernesta, we must try-"

"No, my friend, we cannot," Daernesta interrupted sadly. "I cannot revive the child, no matter how much I try-"

"Then we leave him for dead," Taidîr cried angrily, his sharp eyes flashing darkly. "You, the new guardian of the child, have already abandoned him! I thought guardians show love for their adopted children, not abandonment. You will simply let him die, Daernesta? You will let the innocence and future of this realm die!"

Daernesta's eyes hardened. "He has gone past my abilities to heal," he returned sharply. "He will join his father in Mandos."

"_No!"_ Taidîr shouted. Without knowing what caused him to, Taidîr leaped forward and struck out at Daernesta. A gasp was uttered when flesh met flesh, and Daernesta's head whipped to the side under the impact of the strike. The healer staggered back in shock, his hand clutching at the stinging mark Taidîr's hand had left upon his cheek. Taidîr's eyes widened when normalcy returned to his mind, and he stared at his raised hand in horror.

"Daernesta…" he stumbled forward, reaching out to touch the hurt he had inflicted. But abruptly he drew away, and instead buried his face in his hands and began to weep shamefully. "Forgive me…I did not know…but the child, the beautiful child…" Taking pity upon the weeping captain, Daernesta gathered the younger Elf into his arms, holding him comfortingly.

"Nay, my friend, you are not to blame. It is I who is responsible. I only wish I could save the boy," Daernesta wept softly, closing his eyes against the tears that threatened to fall.

"Move aside, my lords," a rich tenor voice suddenly spoke from the silence that followed. "I shall heal him."

Suddenly, before them seemed to be one of the Valar. The figure was tall and great, his body like the straight, beautiful trunk of a mighty oak, his gleaming golden hair like silk spun by the nimble fingers of Estë, his body nimble and swift as the deer that runs by moonlight in the forests. So forward stepped Thranduil, in every image of one of the Valar, his aura bright and ethereal about his fair head, bandaged torso and legs clad in dark leggings so that every man or woman in the room or corridor was in awe of his radiating power and beauty. He easily lowered himself down onto the bed where his son lay as the lords and ladies parted silently to make room for the king. It was perfectly silent in the room as they watched their king close his bright emerald eyes and place his hands upon the flesh of his dying son.

"Legolas, my son, come back from the path of death that you tread, and join me here in the living," Thranduil instructed softly. "I heard your call, and I have come, _tithen-pen._ Now you must answer me."

XXX

_This must be heaven._

Legolas felt nothing short of bliss at this moment, nothing short of pure happiness as he felt his spirit soar in wonder and joy at the sudden freedom he had. He was free. No evil was holding him down now; there was no pain, no horror. It was sheer happiness. His eyes roved across the beautiful lands, taking in the tantalizing smell of the sea that tickled his nose, the gulls crying with joy at seeing the youngest and only child of Thranduil here. The sand was smooth and soft beneath his toes, not coarse or rough. But then he beheld the sea.

Dark, shimmering waves crashed down upon the beach, the foam of the tide sweeping up and down the wet sand. Wave after wave followed of that glistening sea, the beautiful arcing water falling with gentle, soothing rumbles upon the ground. He knew that if he followed his desire, he would go to the Halls of Waiting, and there he would be happy, and filled with wonder and joy. He was drawn to the sea, and his feet began to step slowly across the wet sand, getting closer and closer to the water that beckoned to him, that begged for him to follow…

_Legolas._

The child stopped, turning around at his name called. His father was there, standing up upon the hill of water. Nay, it was not water, it was grass. The beautiful, lush grass rippled in the morning breeze, glistening with dew. His father stood among it, the stems of the flowers of the meadow reaching his thighs. He was stunningly ethereal, almost godly, but at the same time it was his normal _Ada._ His hand was beckoning for him to come, his smile encouraging.

_Follow me, you must come._

Legolas shook his head.

"I wish to step in the sea."

The emerald eyes of his father warned him not to, his head shaking in an order not to step any further.

_No, child, it is not time for you to leave us yet._

"But the sea, it calls to me!"

_Aye, it calls to you, but you must not answer. Follow me instead. You must return to your home._

"But, _Ada_…"

_Come, tithen-pen; you must come._

Slowly, Legolas turned around, and began to go back towards his father. The waves crashed angrily behind him, the gulls screaming at him now for him to turn back. He struggled to ignore their call, concentrating on his father. He wanted to see _Ada_ again…

And then he stepped upon the grass that led up the hill.

Searing pain shot up his body, and he cried out, sinking to the ground on the sand now, shrinking from the glistening wheat and grass that waved lightly before him. "It hurts me, _Ada!_ I cannot follow you!"

_But you must. I promise; you will be all right. Trust me, little one, like you once did._

The sea beckoned quietly behind him, promising safety and healing. He desperately wanted to heed to the call of the sea, knowing it would make him happy, yet somehow he knew it would not completely soothe his troubles.

_Aye, child, it will not give you the respite you seek. I will not be able to meet you there and you will be alone in your happiness, but if you follow me, together we can make it through paths of pain and tears. And there, perhaps, we will find the rest and joy that we seek, and together we shall be happy._

"You promise that you will be there with me? Promise, _Ada_?"

His father smiled. _I promise, tithen-pen. _

"Then I shall come."

And so Legolas began to climb once again, his flesh screaming in agony every time it met grass. And the grass only grew taller as he moved farther from the sea that hummed mournfully behind him, and many times Legolas lost his footing and slipped, his entire body coming in contact with the beautiful green grass that caused him so much agony. Tears of frustration slid down his face, but his father was always there, beckoning him on and whispering words of encouragement, promising that he was almost at the top. His father reached out his hand when Legolas got within several feet of him, breathing hard from his toils and pain, and the child weakly lunged for the top and his father's strong grasp. And there it was; the brush of fair skin upon his own! As soon as their fingers brushed, Thranduil reached out and grasped Legolas hand, and pulled him to the top and into the bright sunlight, smiling broadly.

_You have done it, my child. You have escaped death._

XXX

The king smiled down upon his child when Legolas' eyes fluttered open, the sapphire-silver orbs bright and clear as color flooded the boy's once icy and white cheeks.

"'Tis a miracle," someone breathed.

"_Ada_…" Legolas breathed weakly. Thranduil nodded gently, his eyes soft with love as he stroked the smooth, fair skin of his offspring's cheek. A warm smile spread across the lips of Legolas' own also, his eyes glittering faintly.

"Rest, child; you are weary from your climb," the king told him quietly. Legolas nodded wearily, his body already succumbing to sleep.

"I made it, _Ada_…" the boy whispered as his eyes drifted closed, grasping his father's hand tightly.

"And I am proud of you," Thranduil murmured gently. Legolas smiled wearily at him before he slipped into a healing sleep. Thranduil's smile grew a little warmer, and a little wider, and no one had the heart to disturb the king, who seemed to be in nothing short of bliss now. Everyone let out a breath that they had not realized they had been holding. Daernesta stepped forward hesitantly, his eyes wide.

"My lord, you were dead, how can this be?" he gasped, falling to his knees out of reverence. "I felt your heart fail beneath my fingers…"

Thranduil turned to the shocked healer, his eyes gentle and noble. "Nay, you were correct," he answered in his soft, warm voice that felt like honey to those who were blessed with hearing it. "I had indeed left the land of the living."

Shocked gasps and whispers swept like wildfire through the cluster of people.

"But how did you return, my king?" Taidîr cried, falling to his knees next to Daernesta also. "How is it that you came back from death?"

Thranduil smiled gracefully at him. "I heard my child's call," he merely said, stroking the limp hand of the prince. "A father cannot ignore the cry of help from his child, even when either is perhaps beyond aide." After this, Thranduil turned his glittering eyes back to his son lovingly, and left his people in shock and awe of this noble father. "Taidîr, fetch blankets and fresh clothes for him, if you will," he requested, his eyes never leaving the child. "Legolas is shivering."

It was then the healing instinct overcame Daernesta, and he leapt forward to assess the ailing child. Indeed, as the king had said, Legolas was trembling, but out of cold. The water from the mountains had been very chilly, even for April weather, and the weakened child could not handle the cold in his state. He remained fast asleep though, peaceful for the first time he had ever seen him as his father stood guard over him. No longer was his brow furrowed in sleep, nor did he twitch and moan, but instead was quiet and still even in his sickened state.

Someone brought forth a robe, and it was placed upon Thranduil's shoulders. He nodded in gratitude of the good deed, but still did not leave his child. Taidîr soon returned with blankets and fresh clothes, and handing them to Thranduil he quickly bowed low and moved to the side. Thranduil stripped his child of the sodden clothes and quickly pulled on warm, dry materials. He covered the boy with the blankets, smoothing the creases out gently. When he was sure that Legolas was resting peacefully, snug and warm beneath the layers of bedding and clothing, only then did Thranduil turn to his people, eyes warm and glowing.

"I thank you, Taidîr," he smiled appreciatively at the captain, "for saving my son from the river. I am indebted to you now, and never will I be able to fulfill the great amount that I fear I owe you."

"You are most welcome, my lord," Taidîr bowed low, smiling back at him. Thranduil dipped his head in a noble return. He now turned to his fair people who stood gathered before him.

"My people, there are many questions that you have, and I promise that you will have your answers, in due time. But for now, return to your homes, your wives, your husbands, and your families, for you can rest assured that your king, and prince, live."

The crowd bowed respectively, smiling warmly at their king, and filed quietly out, murmuring to each other as they mused about what had transpired. They left Thranduil, Legolas, Gandalf and Daernesta alone in the room. Thranduil let out a weary sigh once they were gone, and sank weakly into a chair, holding his head in his hands. Daernesta rushed forward immediately.

"My lord, what ails you?" the healer cried anxiously. He parted the folds of the robe and began to press wadding to the bandages, believing that he still bore the wound and it had begun to bleed once again. Thranduil pushed his hand away and stood, moving to the window where sun rays wafted in through the panes of colored glass.

"Nay, I no longer am wounded," he stated sadly. His eyes were thoughtful and dark as they gazed out upon his realm. Daernesta still insisted upon checking the king, and Thranduil gave in with little resistance. Once the bandages were removed, Daernesta saw that there indeed was no wound, and no scar either; nothing remained but beautiful, flawless flesh. Satisfied at last, Daernesta finally moved away and began to tend to the child now nearby. Gandalf joined Thranduil at the window.

The king sighed. "How long ago was it that he…?" Thranduil broke off suddenly, but began again just as quickly. "How long ago was it that I was attacked?"

"They found you before dawn this morning, only three hours ago," Gandalf explained reassuringly. The Woodland King closed his eyes and nodded, choosing not to respond. The wizard watched the king for a long moment, debating on whether or not to speak his mind. At long last he spoke. "Thranduil, what happened last night?" the wizard asked quietly, watching the king for his reaction. Thranduil visibly stiffened, and a flicker of pain crossed his face before the indiscernible mask slid back, but he shook his head.

"I do not wish to speak of it," he requested softly, turning away. As he did, his hand brushed something at his side, and Thranduil stopped and felt his belt for the strange object. He withdrew his hand and it held a little note, slightly plump with something stuffed inside. Frowning, Thranduil unfolded it, and felt his heart rip in two violently. He recognized his child's handwriting, but what caused the most pain was that the pendant that he had given Legolas months earlier was enclosed inside, and it glimmered hopefully up at him in the sunlight. Gripping the beautiful charm in one hand, he unfolded the parchment, and began to read:

_Dear Ada,_

_I know you may never read this, but in case you do I want to tell you something. I am sorry for everything I caused you. You and Nana should never have had me. Nana died because of me, and so did Imrathon. And now, it seems that you will die also. I miss you already, but I shall see you soon, I promise. I will meet you where I cannot hurt anyone anymore, where I can see Imrathon and Nana again. I wish to meet Daeradar and Uncle Ainion, too. Promise me you will introduce me to them? I hope Daeradar isn't mean. Whenever you told me stories about him, in the story you and your brother always got in trouble and Daeradar got angry. I hope he won't get angry at me for hurting you. Ada, please forgive me. I do not remember everything of last night, but what everyone says in the hallway must be true. And I should always listen to the elders, right, Ada? _

_I will stop writing here, for I will talk to you soon. Please tell the searchers not to look for me, for I will lie at the bottom of the river beyond their reach, and there will be no need to rescue me, for I will be_

_with you and with love,_

_Legolas_

By the time Thranduil had finished reading, he could no longer see the words for his vision had blurred with tears.

**TBC

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	33. XXXII: Deciding Fate

**Mask of Innocence**

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(shuffles in sheepishly) ...I suppose a simple 'sorry' will cut it, will it? (winces) I'm so terribly sorry for not posting sooner. I have simply not been satisfied with this chapter at all and with all the school work piling up I haven't the time anymore to get things done as fast! Just as a warning, chapters may start coming in intervals varying from two weeks to a month. I can't predict anything, but I will try my hardest to get these chapters edited and posted as fast as possible.

In celebration of my recent birthday (the 18th of January), I have decided to throw a Hobbit-style birthday bash and this chapter is your present! Congrats! Elf cookies to anyone who knows why I'm giving out 'presents' instead of receiving!

(Well, not really. I'm not going to hunt each reviewer who gets this right down and pay $20 to get a box of cookies sent across the country and maybe even overseas just so you can get a box of moldy, smashed blobs that vaguely resemble cookies in March and throw them out after nearly passing out from the stench.)

lol. Please review!

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**Chapter Thirty-two: Deciding Fate**

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"**The risk of a wrong decision is preferable to the terror of indecision."**

**-Maimonides**

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It was hours later before Gandalf finally located Thranduil. The king had fled to his chambers after finding his child's note upon him, and was in a terrifyingly quiet state when the wizard found him.

When Gandalf walked in, he found the Woodland King staring at a beautiful portrait that hung upon the wall, a picture of him and his wife and child. The wizard silently watched as Thranduil reached up with a shaking hand to caress the image of the newborn child tentatively and then turn away, his head bowing in grief.

"I would give anything to simply see my son smile again, for him to be truly happy for more than a handful of days," he murmured. "All I want is for my son to be free of this evil. Willingly I would die a thousand deaths only for the shadow to be removed from his mind. Whatever the cost, I swear I shall save him from the impending tide that threatens to slay us all."

As he closed his eyes, the wizard's hand comfortingly rested upon the king's shoulder, but it did very little to alleviate the pain Thranduil now experienced.

"Whatever the cost?" Gandalf turned the king around to face him, looking deeply into the cold eyes. He wondered if this king truly comprehended what he was promising.

"Whatever the cost," Thranduil confirmed gravely, his eyes dark. He turned away, moving to pour a glass of wine for himself. He needed to calm his nerves desperately, and he shuddered in relief as the cool, sharp taste of Dorwinion slid down his throat, his mind beginning to clear. "We must act soon, Gandalf. The note on Tidurian's body; it stated that five-thousand strong of the enemy were stationed not twenty leagues south of us, and that they would attack in a fortnight if no news reached them in time of my decision to surrender the kingdom or to fight the overwhelming forces and face defeat and death. We have little more than thirteen days to decide and prepare." He paused for a moment, flinging open the balcony doors and letting his emerald eyes rove over the beautiful forest below him as sunlight streamed in.

"Always this has been my home, even if I cannot call it my birthplace, Mithrandir," Thranduil continued more softly and reverently. "My people love me; I can see it every day in their actions and words. A good king reflects his people's personalities, their strengths, their love, and even their weaknesses. It is not difficult to be a leader, but it is difficult to be a _good_ leader. It is easy to lie around and tax your people, not giving a care as to whether or not your kingdom's children are orphans, or if your kingdom's soldiers are equipped and can fight. It takes much more than power to make a king a good king; he must care about his people, he must love them, he must know of what they are concerned, and he must protect them as his own flesh and blood. He must, at times, place his people and land above his own family."

Abruptly Thranduil bowed his head, taking a shuddering breath and gulping down another swig of wine. When he looked up, the look upon his face was no longer that of humbleness and reverence, but of mixed confusion and a hint of shame.

"But therein lies my own fault and weakness; I fear that I am too attached to my son. I place his value over my kingdom at times, and I know it is wrong. And yet here I am, torn over decisions. I can spare my kingdom of death and destruction and kill the last of my family, or I can save my child and destroy my people and realm. I know not what is right anymore. And I know that Sauron will never uphold his promises; if he does, he will hold strictly by what he said and no more. I know he will spare my people, but at what cost? Will he spare them only after I submit to the _yrch_ for their foul games and am beaten and whipped before the very eyes of my people, to nearly die and then be drug back from the throes of death only to be subject to more agony and humiliation? Will he spare them only if they swear allegiance to him and fight for him in the war that awaits all of Middle-earth? Nay, they are not empty promises, but promises that have catches that will spell the end of my realm."

Thranduil sighed wearily, sinking down onto a settee at the foot of his bed. He rubbed his temple with his thumb and index finger tiredly. "I am at a loss, Mithrandir," he admitted. "It would be going against all my instincts to surrender the kingdom to the enemy, for I know Sauron would short me somehow in one of the 'promises' he wrote of in the letter. But the Valar know that I would do anything to save my child from the enemy. What shall I do? I cannot surely save both my people and my child."

"You must choose between your boy and the duty you owe to your people, Thranduil," Gandalf explained gently. "The simple and terrible truth, my friend, is that one must die for the other to survive. You must decide which duty is more demanding, your duty as a father or duty as a king."

"But how?" Thranduil cried, his voice rough. He slammed his fist into his palm in frustration and anger. "How am I to decide who shall die and who shall live? I do not want the power to deal out death, Gandalf, I would never want that!" He got up and began to pace around anxiously. "Sweet Ilúvatar, why must this terrible decision fall to me? What have I done to deserve this?" Suddenly he stopped in front of the portrait, and stared long and hard at his infant son in the picture. "He is so innocent, Mithrandir," he whispered, his fingers yet again straying to the image. "Why must the innocent suffer so? And now I must choose between his life and death! I love the boy, and yet I am terrified of him."

He spun around to face Gandalf, his expression dark and filled with horror. "He murdered Tidurian, Gandalf," Thranduil confessed shakily, suddenly very pale. "No, do not argue against me; I know it is true. Every time he has been ill, he has been possessed by Sauron. Do you not see it? When he first was ill, it was when he had returned from Dol Guldur. Lord Taidîr told me that two Elves, whose throats had been slashed, were found lying dead not a hundred feet from the Orc campsite where the child had been found. He was ill again shortly after I tried to kill him, when I was blinded by rage invoked by his words. He was ill after Tidurian was murdered; you remember, do you not? He came into the study, complaining of illness. But…" Suddenly Thranduil's voice dropped low, and his eyes filled with tears. "He…he must have been ill again after I was found, am I correct?"

Gandalf nodded. "He was, although he had passed out by the time he was found," he added quietly.

Thranduil closed his eyes. "Oh Ilúvatar…it takes more and more out of him each time. Every time it takes longer to recover, and he dies a little more each time. I cannot help but wonder how long it will take before he can take no more of it, and shall never wake again…"

"But Thranduil, why are you terrified of him?" Gandalf asked quietly, placing his hands on the king's shoulders to steady him. Thranduil's eyes opened and gazed at the wizard warily, as if he was afraid to answer. "You have not told me why, save for that he has murdered three of your people, although that can be enough to worry most normal fathers." He smiled wanly with his last words, but immediately his smile disappeared when he saw abrupt change in the king, when he saw the terror in Thranduil's eyes before they were shut tightly.

"He…he stabbed me, Mithrandir," Thranduil breathed hoarsely, shoulders shaking as he leaned against the wall. "I saw him, I saw the grin on his face as he bent over me, watching gleefully as I clutched at the knife within me before I passed out…I love my son, and I know it was not truly him who strove to kill me, but I shall be scarred forever…to see your own child, your precious, beautiful boy clutching a knife in hand as he raised it above your head…the look of delight and upon his face when you fall to the ground…the crazed madness in his eyes, even when they are not his own, when he watches your blood drip from the wound he inflicted…" Thranduil opened his eyes, and gazed sadly at Gandalf. "You too would be terrified of your son if he attacked you. You too would be dying quietly and alone, knowing that one day your son was smiling and hugging you, and then the next he is stabbing you with a knife as you sleep.

"And yet I love this child who killed me. I came back to save him, and he followed me back to the land of the living. I stood by his side, knowing that this child, my own flesh and blood, had tried to kill me and succeeded, and yet I did not care. I love him dearly, for he is all that I have left of my family. The sheer terror of knowledge that my son is possessed by a monster that strives for my death is simply not enough to drive me away from him. I am both terrified and completely in love with my son. I know I am truly only terrified of Sauron's potential, but it hurts me terribly nonetheless. I just hope that I will soon find that my love for Legolas is stronger than my terror for him."

Out of pity Mithrandir embraced the weeping king. "I am sure it is, Thranduil, with all my heart. You will save him, do not fear."

Thranduil pulled away, hiding his shame and humiliation behind a curtain of hair and began to anxiously pace about the room. "But how can I do this? How can I save him? You cannot remove this influence from him, I cannot, and no other can! Only Sauron has the power to do so!"

But then, Thranduil suddenly froze. "Only Sauron has the power…" he breathed. His eyes closed, and a faint smile tugged at the corners of his lips. "That's it. Only Sauron has the power!"

Gandalf frowned. "I, for once, must admit defeat. Clue me in, if you will."

Thranduil let out a laugh. "Do you not understand, Mithrandir? We cannot just sit here and wait for our end to come, but we must remove the powers from Legolas. How, you ask? Listen very closely." The king perched himself on the edge of a chair and motioned for Gandalf to do the same. "Sauron has the strength to remove Legolas' powers, so we must play into his hands. We must make him remove the powers from the child."

"How, Thranduil? You cannot simply negotiate with the Dark Lord for your son's return!" Gandalf retorted sharply. "You might as well surrender your life and kingdom!"

Thranduil's eyes glimmered victoriously, and he began to smile. "Exactly," he answered quietly. "That is exactly what I shall do. I know that he will short me in either the sparing of my people or of my child, so I shall give him an offer he cannot resist." Thranduil's eyes briefly flickered away, and the smile faded from his lips. "I shall trade him my life for the safety of my people and child. How could he turn down an offer as great as this? Do be able to vanquish your enemy's leader and steal his land all at the price of sparing a few thousand people and a child; he would not deny an offer such as this. It would make sense to him that I would make such a sacrifice, knowing how much I love my people and child. It is my greatest weakness, second to that of treasure," he added with a teasing smile, but Gandalf could tell that this light expression the king was displaying was only a mask to cover his concern and anxiousness.

"You make it sound so easy, my friend, when this task is indeed far from it."

"Listen a moment, Mithrandir, and you shall learn how I shall accomplish this. I shall travel to Dol Guldur with the child-"

"And what of the five-thousand Orcs stationed twenty leagues away? How will you manage to sneak by them?"

"Please, Mithrandir, will you just listen for a moment? Once the Orcs see the child's scar, they will let us pass, that I am sure of. Maybe they will even be kind enough to provide us an escort," Thranduil added dryly, "But the Orcs that are left behind will be taken care of by the _taur-maethor. _Once we reach Dol Guldur, I shall negotiate with him on my conditions without offering my life at first, but once I hear the true definition of his terms I shall choose to forsake my immortality as promise and proof that I am final in this decision. He must remove his powers from Legolas before he may touch my body, however. If he does not agree with me, I shall leave the fortress by whatever means possible and return home, calling for the aide of Lothlorien, Rivendell, Rohan and Gondor. Yes, Mithrandir, I shall even plea to Men for aide. I must overlook my pride in hope of saving my people. With their aide I shall assault the fortress and drive them out. This information shall give him the impression that my army is weak and small and requires the aide of others to tackle such a large force such as his, when truly it will be one of the strongest forces in Arda at the time. This shall make him rethink his decision, and as he would never wish to openly confront the Lord or Lady of Lórien, who surely would ride to battle with us and possess the power to challenge his, he will submit to my terms. My life and land he shall take, and my people and child set free and be granted unhindered passage out of the Woodland Realm.

"Undoubtedly, he will lock me in irons to ensure that his plans will not fail and will keep me from managing to escape. I shall feign hopelessness and defeat; although I shall not die without a fight should it come to combat. Yes, I will die, my friend, but I am not afraid of that sacrifice when it means saving my people and my family.

"And you, my dear wizard, you shall gather all those who wish to defend their realm, man or woman. This kingdom shall respond with many willing to fight. If any of my subjects who have not at least seen one-hundred years of this world wish to fight, lock them in the dungeon if you cannot convince them to stay. I shall not have my realm's young people witness the terrors of Dol Guldur. You shall lead the warriors under the cover of darkness, advancing silently and cautiously behind Legolas and I. Do not let the enemy discover you as you encircle the fortress. Your objective is to flush as many of the Orcs out of Dol Guldur and force them west, to the borders of Lórien. I shall prepare a message to Celeborn immediately to request his permission and aide in this fight. This shall drive the majority of the force from our borders, or at least keep them at bay for several years. Too many now roam the southern area of the forest, and I will not have a force like that threatening my people.

"Then you shall storm the fortress and find Legolas. Only if I am worth saving and you are in a position that allows you to do so may you rescue me. But no matter the cost, _get Legolas out and keep him alive._ I do not wish to become victim to the horror and pain of Dol Guldur if you cannot keep the little one breathing," Thranduil smiled sadly. "You will attack when I give the order."

Thranduil paused for a moment, waiting for Gandalf's reaction. The wizard simply gazed at Thranduil for a long while, doubt mirrored in his gray eyes.

"Do you, Mithrandir, believe that Sauron gives last wishes to his victims?" Thranduil suddenly asked quietly, his eyes soft. Gandalf's brow furrowed.

"I suppose he might, but only out of spite," he replied slowly. "Why do you ask?"

"The success of the entire mission depends upon it," Thranduil simply answered quietly. He would not explain further, nor would he tell Gandalf exactly how he would go about giving the order to attack when he would be locked up inside the great tower. "All I will tell you is that you must be ready at all times, either to retreat or attack," he answered. "You will know what to do when the time comes. But you must promise me something first: _do not let the warriors attack until Legolas has been freed of Sauron's dominion, no matter what I tell you during my torture._"

Gandalf's mind threatened to produce thoughts of the Woodland King suffering, pleading upon his knees to be saved as his body, weak and broken from torture, was in peril of giving in.

"Are you positive about this, Thranduil? You are completely condemning yourself to death should Sauron not remove his powers from the child before he tortures you-"

"_Promise me._" Thranduil's voice was soft as he begged Gandalf for certain death. The wizard was torn between giving the king pity or allegiance as he gazed into those heartbroken orbs.

"I promise," Gandalf reluctantly responded. He watched with grief as Thranduil turned away from him, bringing his tear-filled gaze to rest upon the portrait once again. A somber silence ensued.

"But how do we keep Sauron from taking control of Legolas again? If he does, he may kill you for good, Thranduil. No one is safe around the child," Gandalf remarked.

Thranduil sighed and began to pace the room wearily. He walked back and forth, moving from place to place as he fumbled through belongings for ideas. He stumbled across the pendant Legolas had given back to him. The king held it up with a soft smile, eyes loving but sad as he gazed upon it.

"I gave this to Legolas to make him feel better," he softly explained to Gandalf, never once taking his eyes off the beautiful charm. "Vanya gave it to me when the boy was born. I thought that it would bring it closer to his mother, and that maybe she could help him in a way I could not. Protect him somehow, with her love." Suddenly his eyes hardened, and hot tears stung him. "But only fools think such things." He discarded the necklace with an angry frown, blinking back tears. But abruptly he froze.

_I will always watch over you and the child, always._

He seized the necklace again, gazing at it intently.

_Remember this: darkness cannot rule when all that it encounters is darkness._

"Darkness cannot rule when all that it encounters is darkness…" he breathed. He closed his eyes and brought the charm to his lips. "That's it. Oh Valar, I love you so much, Vanya."

"What does it mean, Thranduil?" Gandalf asked inquisitively. "This riddle…where did you hear it?"

"In a dream, long ago and shortly after Legolas had been brought home," Thranduil explained in a rush. "I saw my wife again, when she was killed. She came to me in the dream and told me that I was losing the child, and told me the riddle. I did not comprehend the meaning at the time, but now it makes perfect sense.

"Darkness cannot rule when all that it encounters is darkness. Darkness, in the first meaning, is evil. This evil would apply to Sauron. Sauron cannot rule when all that he encounters is darkness. Sauron cannot _possess_ when all that he encounters is darkness. He cannot possess Legolas when all he encounters is darkness. If you encounter darkness in someone, what does that mean?"

"It means that they are evil…" Gandalf began.

"No, no! Think of it as a physical state."

Gandalf's eyes lit up. "Unconsciousness…" he breathed.

Thranduil snapped his fingers. "Exactly."

"So you are saying that we render Legolas unconscious and he will not be possessed by Sauron?" The wizard exclaimed quietly.

"Precisely," the king nodded. Gandalf sat back in his chair, absorbing everything slowly and thinking hard.

"But so much can go wrong, Thranduil," Gandalf remarked hesitantly, trying to break the silence between them. "If you fail in this battle, your entire kingdom will be destroyed. Sauron will gain control of all of the forest, and he will soon dominate all of Rhovanion. Then nothing will stop him from attacking Gondor and the Misty Mountains, gaining valuable land and conquering enemies…"

"I know, Mithrandir, I know," Thranduil whispered. Gandalf felt his heart sink with the desperate hope in Thranduil's eyes. "But it is all we have."

**TBC

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**


	34. XXXIII: A Nightmare

**Mask of Innocence

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Chapter Thirty-three: A Nightmare **

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"**Do you know the terror of he who falls asleep? **

**To the very toes he is terrified, because the ground gives way under him, and the dream begins."**

**-Friedrich Nietzsche**

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_He was being followed. Every step he took they would also. His heartbeat quickened. They were getting closer. The breath hot on his neck caused gooseflesh to sear down his spine. He kept running, harder than ever. He had to get away. He didn't want to be here. He wanted so desperately to wake up and get away from the monsters that followed him. 'ADA!' he screamed. 'ADA! HELP ME!'_

"Legolas?"

Thranduil sat down quickly on the bed, his hands flying to his child to still him. The boy tossed and turned, moaning aloud as his small hands clawed at his eyes and ears.

"Legolas! Child, you must wake!"

"_ADA!_ _SAES_, HELP ME!"

The prince thrashed as if he was in a fit, crying aloud. His eyes were squeezed shut tightly, his brow furrowed as if in pain. "_ADA!_" he screamed again. The Woodland King seized his child's body, pressing him tightly to his chest.

"I am here, child. _Ada_ is here!" Thranduil assured Legolas in a rush. "Wake up, _tithen-pen,_ it's just a nightmare…" But Legolas would not listen. He continued to convulse and wail as if his father was not there at all. It was as if the poor child had been locked in a room much too small, dark and silent, and was going mad.

"_Ada_…please…save me…"

So very suddenly Legolas went still in Thranduil's arms, and the king's heart nearly stopped.

"Legolas, _wake up!"_

But Legolas did not hear his father's cry, for he treaded the dark path of nightmares.

XXX

_The earthen path was hard to see in the darkness of the night as he walked. He saw very little as he stepped so silently on the dry earth, but what he did see was enough to make him want to turn back. _

_The bare limbs of the towering trees around him leaned far over the path, the foul breeze on the air causing them to rustle and twitch, and to Legolas the branches looked as if they were fingers itching for a neck to constrict. This was no ordinary dream, and he knew it. Things were never this breathtakingly clear in his dreams, and he always relived his good memories when he sought respite. They would give him strength and hope, because he remembered what things truly had been like, and how wonderful life truly was. He had never been here before, and this certainly could not have been one of his good memories._

_But then he heard a voice, ever so faintly in the distance:_

"_Tell me, Legolas; what made you think you could triumph over me by drowning yourself?"_

_With a whimper Legolas spun around, but there was no owner of the voice to be seen. His footsteps quickened and he anxiously moved further down the path, his face white and crystal eyes wide with terror._

"_No! Go away, please!" He whimpered, tears pricking at his eyes. A cruel laugh echoed from over his right shoulder. He whirled around with a small cry, but there was no one there._

"_I'll never go away, Legolas. Not ever."_

_This time the dark voice came from the left of the path. Legolas gave a pitiful squeak and turned around to flee yet again. "Leave me alone!"_

"_Nay, Legolas. I am very, very upset with you. It is time for your punishment," answered the dark voice calmly, but Legolas heard the threat and malice hidden in its undertone._

_Suddenly a pack of growling wolves blocked the path before him. With a gasp Legolas spun around, only to find more of the bloodthirsty wolves behind and on either side of him. The wolves growled and barked angrily at the small Elf-child; they wanted so much to sink their razor-like teeth in his flesh. Their eyes glowed red in the darkness at the prince, their matted and coarse fur hardly visible on their huge bodies as they stood just taller than the boy. Legolas' heart was beating so fast it sounded like a constant pulse in his ears._

"_But it's only a dream. They cannot hurt me in a dream…" Legolas whispered, frightened. There was maniacal laughter again, and this time a form materialized in the mist behind the wolves._

"_This is no dream, Legolas," Sauron hissed. "This is a nightmare."_

XXX

Thranduil flinched from the pain of his heart constricting when Legolas screamed. The sudden sound grated sharply upon his ears, the pure terror resonating from the little one's vocal cords bloodcurdling. He clutched Legolas tightly for what seemed like hours as the child continued to wail and scream, his body twisting and shaking as if something physically attacked him. Nothing would wake the child. A splash of ice-water, his father's cry, a gentle slap to the face, a shake of the shoulders; it all failed to work. Daernesta had no herbs to wake patients, either. But then, suddenly, there was peaceful quiet. Legolas collapsed in Thranduil's arms, and the king hunched over him, kissing the sweaty brow gently.

"Is it ready?" Thranduil whispered, afraid to awaken his child that just now had fallen into peaceful rest. Daernesta nodded and produced a bottle full of a green-tinted thick liquid.

In Thranduil's arms, Legolas was beginning to awaken. He stirred ever so slightly, his eyes still closed, as he felt his father move slightly and heard the tinkling of glass. Frowning, Legolas tried to open his eyes to see what was going on, but it was as if his eyelids were stitched shut. Thranduil shifted his body so he was cradling the child like an infant. As Legolas felt his head lifted, cold glass touched his lips, and a chilled liquid slid slowly down his throat.

"That's it, _tithen-pen._ You will sleep soon," his father murmured comfortingly as he tipped the bottle more.

The words rang in the Elf-child's ears. '_You will sleep soon…'_

Sleep. Yes, sleep. He couldn't wait for sleep to take him again, so he could get away from the pain and the cold. What had happened to him? He remembered water, very cold water, but nothing after that. But then…then _Ada_ had come, and he had woken up. And then he fell asleep, and had been the victim of a nightmare.

_And Sauron had been there._

Legolas' heart clenched at the thought. He wanted absolutely nothing to do with that monster, absolutely nothing. Never again did he want to sleep, so he would not have to face Sauron again…

'_You will sleep soon…'_

_NO!_

Legolas' back arched in protest of the draught they were giving him. _No! I will not fall asleep! NO! _He meant to shove the bottle away from his lips, but all his small hand did was flail in the air weakly before it fell away. But he managed to effectively stop the liquid from being swallowed and shut his mouth tightly against the bottle, squirming weakly.

"Shh…Legolas, relax," his father's eyes were gentle and comforting. "This will help you, I promise."

Legolas made a desperate noise that sounded roughly like 'no'. Thranduil looked at him with pity in his green eyes.

"Please, Legolas; it will be all right."

Legolas tried to shake his head in protest and whimpered, refusing to swallow the liquid or take any more of it. Daernesta stepped forward, pinched the child's nose tightly and held his lips shut, gazing down at the little one with regret and sorrow.

"Forgive me, _ernil-nín,_ but it is for your own good," the healer apologized quietly, and watched the child struggle for nearly a minute to draw a breath but fail. But then at last he gave in and swallowed the liquid so he could breathe, and before he could close his mouth Thranduil had shoved the bottle back into his mouth, and out of his desperate need to consume more air Legolas swallowed all of the very stuff that he was certain would send him back to where the nightmares were.

Thranduil set aside the empty bottle and cradled his panting child close. "_Ada_…not again…wolves…it hurt…" Legolas whimpered as his eyelids drooped. "Please…" But then he was asleep, and he spoke no more. His father kissed his brow softly before sitting back to gaze forlornly at his son. His emerald eyes were dark when he moved away to stand at the balcony.

"Why is he terrified of sleep?" He asked helplessly, speaking to the wind more than to himself or Daernesta. "What could cause such pain to forfeit rest?"

"My lord, perhaps a nightmare?" Daernesta suggested quietly.

"That seems the most likely of answers," the king sighed. "But it must have been a terrible nightmare. It may have been connected to Sauron; that may have kindled most of the terror. Valar, I can only pray that this mission south will succeed in freeing the boy."

Daernesta stood fiddling with the glass bottle somewhat apprehensively, rotating it in his hands as his eyes remained staring hard at the floor. "My lord," he began somewhat hesitantly while glancing up at Thranduil, "I…I fear I must speak my mind, if I may have your consent to do so."

"Speak Daernesta, you know I have never prevented you," Thranduil replied wearily.

Daernesta's eyes again dropped submissively to the floor. "Aye, my lord; I know it is so. But…" he raised his gaze to his king's back, "Do I speak to the leader of this realm, or a fellow Elf concerned for the good of the kingdom?"

Thranduil turned around slowly, brow furrowed. "Please, never speak to me as a king, for I will never hear plain words or understand your true reason for speaking. What troubles you?"

"Thranduil, why do you go to fight a battle you cannot win?" Daernesta began quietly. "There is no victory against the power that rises in the south-"

"Speak plainly, Daernesta," Thranduil ordered in a dark undertone. The healer's eyes briefly closed, and when he opened them they were troubled and angry.

"You go to your death and the death of your people, Thranduil," He told the king shamelessly and with conviction, "You are making a terrible mistake doing this." Thranduil sighed inaudibly and moved away from the balcony. He was not in the mood for such talk. Daernesta followed him, still speaking. "This will not save the child. You will kill us all along with him, because you will never be able to outwit the Dark Lord. He is thousands of years your senior and possesses forces so many times greater than ours, not to mention the amount of strength and knowledge he has. Do you not see it, Thranduil? It is madness, it is insanity! It is folly to believe that you, a mere king of Elves with no ring of power to protect his people and but five hundred men-at-arms, could possibly defeat the greatest evil in Middle-earth!"

Thranduil stood silently as he took the verbal beating, his eyes closed. When finally Daernesta had drawn to an end of his one-sided argument, the Woodland King turned around to face the healer.

"Then you would rather me kill Legolas, is that it?" Thranduil asked weakly. "Because if that is what you wish, I am afraid I cannot do that. I would rather die."

Daernesta gazed at his king with troubled eyes. "But you would be saving your people, your entire realm! Is it that difficult to do a greater good to do a lesser evil?"

"Yes," came the soft reply. "It is, Daernesta. If you have children you may be able to understand how difficult it is. But you do not, so I cannot listen to you, no matter how much my heart yearns to scream at me that you are right and that I am wrong, and that I must extinguish the immortal flame I created with the love of my wife and save my people, the people who have put so much trust and hope in me."

And at these words Daernesta was saddened and taken aback, for he perceived Thranduil's mind in that instant and received only a glimpse of the terror and grief that ravaged the poor king's heart, but it was enough to silence him and make him wonder at the true love that a father experiences for his son and the loyalty a king devotes to his people and realm.

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Every night that followed the king sought no rest. He vanished into the forest at times and no one would see him until dawn. But each night a voice from the forest could be heard, soft and anguished, as words were lifted in a beautifully heartbreaking melody to the gods, begging for forgiveness and a quick, painless death that would never be granted. And the people of Thranduil despaired, for they knew that their king had given up all hope for saving himself and his son from ultimate destruction. And all the people could do was pray with him, begging the Valar to spare their own families along with their king and beautiful prince, wishing that they could simply wake up from this terrible nightmare.

And they wept for all that could have been.

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On the morn of the eighteenth of May, a week before time would expire for the Woodland Realm if a message was not sent to the enemy, Thranduil received a letter from Lord Celeborn of Lórien:

_Thranduil;_

_I cannot possibly convey the sincere grief and regret my wife Galadriel and I faced when we received word of your son's capture and of your decision to attack Dol Guldur and trade your life for others. I would tell you that it would be folly, but I shall not for I know you would have none of it, being the stubborn yet proud lord you are. I simply wish to grant you our blessing and hope for your victory, and our promise that we shall aide you however you desire in this quest. A force of three-hundred strong is preparing even as I write this, and are readying to advance across the Anduin and camp several leagues north-north-east of the Tongue+. You may notify the head of my forces, Lord Haldir, with a messenger on there on the East Bank should the need arise for reinforcements. May the Valar protect you and the prince, my friend._

_Celeborn of Lórien_

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It was decided that Thranduil would set out with his unconscious child at dawn on the nineteenth. The night before, he paid those closest to him farewell. Solemnly and tearlessly he bid the councilors and healers goodbye, visiting each one and thanking them courteously for what they had done for him. All who saw him could tell he was a changed person. So very suddenly he realized the desperation of the situation, and the dire situation he had put his people in. And he regretted it terribly, but he knew it was the only way to save his child, and he desperately hoped that his people would forgive him for that. But he held on to hope that he could save both his son and his realm, but deep in his heart he knew that should it come to a choice in the end with no other path to take his precious little one would not be welcomed home alive.

He had spent the afternoon surveying the silent and secret preparation of the army, making sure that not one of them stepped foot outside of the palace that was not assigned to a normal watch. Things were to proceed as normally as possible with no change in the armed forces stationed already outside the palace as to avoid attention and suspicion. Taidîr was to lead a force to escort Thranduil to the enemy line and would retreat back to the palace once that task was finished.

Gandalf and Thranduil spoke in private for a great amount of time behind closed doors, and when they both emerged Thranduil had an odd look of finality in his eye. He retreated immediately to the protection and isolation of his inner chambers, where he lingered for many hours. The servants heard not a word from his chambers as they continued about their business preparing Thranduil's weapons and armor, save for the muffled sound of someone singing, very softly, with the most heartbreakingly sweet voice heard for many years to come that brought many of those who heard it to tears. The words were softly sung, but easily heard, and the people began to weep when their heard the grief and lamentation in the sweet voice, the words once more a plea to the Valar to forgive him of his sins and wrongdoings, and to spare at least his child and people of whatever doom would surely befall them in the coming years. But what truly brought his people to tears was that Thranduil was also asking for his people's forgiveness in case the worst would come to be, and they were moved that such a great, prideful king would weep over such a thing as failing his people's trust when his child's life was at stake.

And once again they found themselves thinking that they were in the same nightmare as Legolas, and the wolves were biting at their heels as they struggled to flee from death, but the people of Thranduil knew that this was no nightmare. And they wept, because nothing would ever let them wake up from this terrible nightmare called life, no matter how hard they tried.

**TBC**

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_+The Tongue: **"The narrow point of land at the southeastern tip of Lórien, formed where the Celebrant flowed into the Great River Anduin. The angle between the two rivers was treeless, and covered by a green lawn flowered with bright golden elanor. On the southern bank of the Tongue was a hythe - a landing-place - from which river-boats could set out into the Celebrant to navigate either river. It was from this hythe that the Fellowship of the Ring set out after their time in Lórien to begin their travels on the Great River."** – The Encyclopedia of Arda; "The Tongue"_

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Thanks to all my readers and those who were so generous as to leave a review, especially to **messenger of the Elvenking, ElvenHope, Moonyasha, Faerlas, **and **LazloTitan36. (**Legolass - how did you twist your back? hope you feel better!) Sorry for the late posting; I've been so swamped with schoolwork! I'll try to post more often, I promise!


	35. XXXIV: The Elf They Call 'King'

**Mask of Innocence

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Chapter Thirty-four: The Elf They Call 'King'**

Dawn arrived on the morn of the nineteenth to illuminate skies veiled in clouds. Thranduil rose silently and took his meal quickly before returning to his chambers to be prepared. He found his servants waiting for him, along with Taidîr, and silently the Elves began to buckle on the Elven-king's armor as the realm's captain watched on.

A cool silk skirt was placed over his dark leggings as a tunic of the same emerald material clothed his torso as the king stood still, letting his attendants do their work with expertise and swiftness. Gleaming silver plates of armor in shapes of the leaves of the forest were fastened in an overlapping pattern across his chest and down his shoulders, much like the armor of the Noldorin army years ago during the Last Alliance. The breastplate was narrow yet strong enough to protect him from moderate to heavy blows yet allowing him the greatest amount of flexibility and ease in moving as possible. He wore no hauberk or coif, however; he did not wish to hinder his movement and knew he would be stripped of his armor should he be handed to the _yrch_ for sport, and by all means he did not wish for the enemy to gain such a valuable piece of armor, for the type of chainmail he wore was made of the finest mithril that could not be found anywhere in the ancient strongholds of the Dwarves. The mighty king of the Elves did, however, request that his pauldrons and bracers be strapped upon his body, for the protection of his arms was critical as he was both a great archer and swordsman should he be required to participate in combat during his journey.

He spoke only once during the entire duration of time, only to request that Taidîr bring him the pendant lying on the desk in his study so he could fasten it around his neck. Tears were in the king's eyes when the captain left to fulfill the errand and the emerald orbs found the portrait of the smiling maiden on the wall.

Soft, supple boots were tied upon his feet, and a long, flowing cape was pinned with a brooch around his neck, the emerald color a sharp likeness to his cold eyes. His great sword and quiver of arrows were strapped onto his back tightly so they would not shift out of place, the straps looping around his chest and over his shoulder to buckle in the front with a clasp with a white gem set in it. His mighty bow also was fit into place behind his quiver for easy storage as he traveled. A shimmering and elegant silver crown completed him, no woodland flowers in its design save for the swirling metal that was woven about his head like the vines of flowers.

And so Thranduil departed as a mighty warrior from his chambers, his gaze steely and fierce as he strode confidently down the corridor and a memory of his wife pressed against the flesh that lay over his heart, and gazed upon his home for what may have been the last time as he stepped out into the bright light of the courtyard, where his people and a small contingent of soldiers waited.

It was deathly silent after the gates groaned open at his command and he walked out as his people observed him in awe. They did not see their king, but a great warrior father who had accepted his own death. They saw a noble Elf holding his head high, his steps purposeful and unfaltering, but they saw the pain and anguish in his glittering eyes that were the result of too many emotions ravaging his heart. In his pale flesh they saw his terror, in his steely eyes they saw his determination, and in his lips pressed firmly together they saw his anger. And those who were wise enough saw in his heart the terrible apprehension and lack of self-confidence that told them that this Elf was like every one of them, and that he too was terrified deep inside right now. But at the same time they perceived that he was not like them, for he had been forced to make a decision between his beloved son and his beloved people. He had decided to forge his own path, even if it was a path that led to destruction. So out of great respect for their king did the people of the Woodland Realm bow before him, never feeling more unworthy to gaze at this beautiful and grieving Elf they called 'King'.

Thranduil mounted his stunning black horse silently and gazed out at his people with forgiveness and love, that one look he gave each and every one of them enough for a thousand words spoken. And so no words were exchanged, for they seemed to already know what Thranduil's intentions were, now that it was decided that he would not return:

_Choose a king you will love and cherish, one that represents you and your hopes and dreams._

_Protect the realm and its forest as if they were your children that stood so tall and brave beneath the sky. _

_Love one another as I have loved you._

_Remember me always for what I was, whether I am a tyrant or a beloved father._

_Always defend and protect the innocent, even if it means giving up all you have for that one innocent spark of life._

Thranduil looked up when he heard Daernesta come out of the palace, walking slowly. A small child was cradled in his arms, a mane of pale gold hair swinging in the breeze as it hung limply out from the little one's body. The boy was wrapped in a thick wool blanket and clothed warmly. The king heard his own breath catch in his chest, simultaneous with those around him.

_Legolas._

Feeling his heart clench, the Woodland King reached out with trembling hands for his little one, his precious Legolas.

_My child._

And suddenly the small child was in his arms, and he was kissing the brow of the little prince and tugging his cloak protectively around him, almost completely hiding the still form from view in his tight embrace. Legolas stirred ever so slightly, only moving to snuggle against his father and let out a faint sigh before settling deeper into the blissful darkness, free of nightmares.

It was upon this sleeping child that Thranduil gazed so tenderly, eyes soft with pity and love. This was the reason he was leaving. It was for this tiny, sleeping body that he would lay his life down for. It was his job to protect the innocent, even at the cost of his life.

_You will never know how much I truly love you, Legolas. Should we succeed and I am not there to tell you the tale of your father's quest to save your soul, do not fear; I am sure that every night at dusk at least a dozen people in this realm will beg to have the honor to tell you of it, and you shall know and be reminded every day that I love you, and I always shall._

"You do not have to do this, Thranduil."

The Woodland King turned his head and slowly met the healer's steady gaze.

"'Tis not too late to stop it here," Daernesta protested softly, his brows knit together in anguish and concern.

Thranduil shook his head slowly. "Nay, Daernesta, I must do this. You would not understand, my friend," he apologized gently. "But I thank you, for all you have done," he smiled wanly at the frustrated healer. "_Namárië_."

Daernesta backed away with troubled eyes, but made an attempt to smile back. "_Namárië_."

Thranduil turned to Gandalf, whose gray eyes were troubled also. "Be strong, Gray One," Thranduil murmured warmly, a note of sadness and regret in his tone as he gripped the forearm of the wizard. "You and Taidîr are my only hope. Be strong." They released each other, and with a last glance at his home Thranduil reached forward to grasp the reins of his black stallion.

"My lord, wait!"

A maiden burst from the crowd and rushed to the king's side, seizing the reins of her lord's horse to stop him. Thranduil gazed down intently upon her, brows furrowed. "Speak, good lady, but with haste. I must leave," he commanded gently.

"Please, my king, do not leave us!" the maiden wept, her eyes bright with tears. "We are nothing without you! Please, stay and defend us while you still can!"

"Forgive me, my lady, but I cannot stay. I go not only to save my child put to protect you and our kin here. By sacrificing myself I can grant you safety and freedom. Aye, I know it will not be the same, but you will be safe, and that is all that matters to me."

The maiden's eyes went soft with shock. "Then you condemn yourself to death," She said in a hushed voice, her eyes wide. Tears slipped in silver streams down her porcelain face.

Thranduil's gaze was dim, but tender nonetheless. "But I shall die for the sake of my people and my family, and that is a sacrifice worth taking," the king replied quietly. He gently loosened the reins from the stunned maiden's hands, but did not spur his horse on. His eyes had roved over the forest before him, and he had sat there, as if he was frozen. A shadow passed over his face, and the hope in his eyes flickered and went out like a candle. His shoulders slumped and his stately posture vanished. And then he did one thing that his people would never forget.

The weeping Elf-maiden was amazed to see the Woodland King begin to weep. He was silent as his shoulders convulsed and tears slipped down his face, and out of shame turned his face away and closed his eyes tightly. The entire population was moved so very suddenly in that instant, and they were taken aback.

_Why does our king weep so? Never has he shown this sort of weakness, as he claims it, to us._

But no matter how much Thranduil tried, the tears continued to fall, but ever so silently, and humiliated he began to spur his horse away. His people seemed to have alienated him now, now that a maiden had voiced all of their worries and angers, and he was suddenly ashamed and anguished. No longer did he wish to linger in the presences he was not worthy of. But he was stayed by the hand of the maiden next to him, and by the healer, too. Blinking, the Woodland King gazed at them in confusion.

"We may disagree with you, my lord," Daernesta offered quietly, "but we shall not turn away from you, nor shall we fail to comfort someone who is weary of being strong, who never deserved the pain he and his loved ones experienced."

Thranduil gazed at him and the maiden beside him, and a grateful sob slipped past his lips, and he smiled tearfully. His people moved forward to gather around his horse, and the air echoed of words of praise, promise, and hope. And the heart of Thranduil was gladdened, and he spoke to his people, the people he was so proud of:

"I can only hope I do not fail you, for you all are more than every ruler can want, and I would perhaps be thrown in the void for bringing evil upon such good people as you," Thranduil remarked faintly with an unsteady voice. He did his best to smile, and his people broke into gentle smiles at his partially-serious jest.

"We shall miss you greatly, my king," a voice murmured.

"I know you shall," Thranduil returned consolingly to the crowd, tears of his own sparkling in his eyes. "But, my people, you are strong. You shall survive without me, that I know. So now I leave you, to choose your own ruler in my stead until this little one here," he squeezed his son's body gently, "is wise enough to rule, should you wish it."

"Why would we not wish for Prince Legolas to rule?" Someone asked, astounded. "What else would we do with such a wonderful son of such a great king?"

Thranduil felt his heart clench, and a loving smile spread across his lips. He shut his eyes against the tears that pricked hotly.

"_Hannon le, mellyn-nín,"_ he whispered. "Thank you so much, for all you have done. I cherish it all; I truly do. But now, I must leave you." The Woodland King gathered his reins in his hands and prepared to leave, and his people moved back to give him room. "_Namárië." _

And then he galloped off, and the people of the Woodland Realm watched as the great Elf they had the honor of calling 'King' and his contingent of soldiers vanished into the forest.

**TBC**

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**_I hope you all enjoyed my early update! ;) _

_Thanks to all who read and especially those who review! **messenger of the Elvenking, GreenLady247, ElvenHope, luthien thranduiliel, LazloTitan36, **and **Faerlas** - I can't tell you how much I truly appreciate the feedback!_


	36. XXXV: Confrontations & Fears

**Mask of Innocence**

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_Hello everyone!_

_Justa slight warning here before we dig in to the next chapter; **this chapter does contain some explicit adult themes; i.e. thoughts/actions relating to suicide and depression (if that counts at all). **Please use your discretion in reading. And while we are on this topic, please be aware that this is the beginning of a series of chapters that include very serious themes such as torture, extreme grief, and (perhaps) death. The rating shall remain at a strong PG-13, but please alert me if a stronger rating is needed. An additional warning for this chapter goes out to Thranduil-lovers and cliffhanger-haters - things are getting nasty. ;)_

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**Chapter Thirty-five: Confrontations & Fears**

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"…**Sleep, angels will watch over you,  
and soon beautiful dreams will come true.  
Can you feel spirits embracing your soul?  
So dream while secrets of darkness unfold…"**

-_Prayer_, Hayley Westenra

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Thranduil was silent as his horse trotted along swiftly beneath the dark eaves of the forest. It had been long since he had ridden this far south, and he was appalled at how terrible the forest now looked.

"'It cannot be seen, cannot be felt, cannot be heard, cannot be smelt,'" Thranduil repeated to himself softly, his emerald eyes wide. "'It lies behind stars and under hills, and empty holes it fills. It comes first and follows after, ends life, kills laughter.'+ So the mortals' riddles are true."

This riddle, at least, was indeed terrifyingly accurate. Darkness indeed had no odor, form, or sound, but the very air seemed to reek of it, and it seemingly threatened to extinguish the bright aura of ethereal light around the Woodland King. _Nay, this is not normal darkness. This is evil._

Abysmal darkness hung thickly over Thranduil's head as he passed blackened tree after blackened tree. He had not realized how terrible things had gotten so close to his realm, and he was not only troubled but furious by this discovery. Out of safety for his warriors he had drawn the sentries closer to the palace after Legolas' capture so close to home, losing land that was once protected and surveyed closely but saving precious life. He thought it had been wise at the time, but now he realized how erroneous he had been in doing so, and how he had nearly caused the death of the wood.

Every bit of ground seemed swallowed up by the shadows. He could not see where his horse treaded, but trusted the stallion immensely. Even his heightened senses could not pierce the darkness around him within a couple hundred feet, which unnerved him greatly. As he traveled farther south his visibility and hearing only grew worse due to the suffocating blackness that surrounded him.

The sound of a nightingale caught Thranduil's ear far to his right. He returned the soft noise, and urged his horse faster. That was the signal. The _yrch_ encampment was within a league, and now it was time for Thranduil to continue alone. So with a heart beating wildly in his ears, the noble Elven-king clutched his son all the tighter and fastened his fierce gaze on the path ahead of him, readying himself for the nasty confrontation that was sure to follow.

Within several minutes he knew he was drawing close to the encampments. The stench of Orc was in the air, and Thranduil's nose wrinkled at the hideous smell. His conscience gave a sharp warning, and instincts cried for him to turn back now. _Keep riding, Thranduil. Ignore your mind. This is the right thing. Everything shall be fine…_

Click

A red flag sprang up in his mind.

_STOP!_

But it was too late. He had blatantly walked into a trap, and Thranduil closed his eyes in horror as bolts from either side of him sang from the darkness. _Sweet Valar…_

His stallion reared and shrieked, and Thranduil wondered vaguely if what he heard was the horse shrieking or if it was the ringing in his ears from the pain. The horse stumbled after it landed on all fours once more, and the Woodland King felt him breathe heavily and shudder beneath him before he steadied himself. But Thranduil slumped forward, panicking as his breath suddenly failed him and darkness crept in to overtake him. He realized what he was clutching so terribly fast to, and immediately his eyes opened wide. His thoughts transferred instantaneously from the arrow buried in his side to his child. _Is he hurt!_ His little one was breathing normally, and his pulse was at a safe level. Thranduil's frantic hands encountered no arrow as they fumbled over Legolas' body, and he nearly collapsed from the relief. Only two bolts had been fired then; one from his left and one from his right. It was the one of the right that had found the small gap in his armor on his side and embedded itself deeply into him, and the other had struck his poor stallion. The steed appeared to be in a considerable amount of pain, but was not in any danger of death at the moment. _Thank Eru we are safe…_

"Look what our trap caught, boys," a voice suddenly hissed. "A messenger has arrived, eh?"

A chorus of snickers surrounded Thranduil, and he suddenly felt very alone as he gazed upon the hideous grins of the Orcs that glared up at him hungrily.

"Aye, I am a messenger, and I bear a message to your dark master," Thranduil replied fiercely, despite the pain screaming up his side. He turned his piercing gaze upon each and every one of the Dark Lord's minions before him, and even they could not help but recoil at the penetrating eyes that bored into them. They shifted uncomfortably, and hastily reached for their weapons. Their leader made no movement to stop them, but instead gazed upon the Elf with lust and hatred. This one was different than the others they usually preyed upon. Ologûk sneered at him, angry that he could not understand the difference between this Elf and the others they tortured and brutally slew under the dark eaves of the forest. This one's cloak hid him and whatever lay against him beneath the dark fabric, and the Orcs could only see radiant emerald eyes gleaming out from the darkness of the hood.

"What message do you bring, Elf?" Ologûk spat at the horse's feet. "We shall tell it to our master if we deem it worthy. Speak, scumbag!"

The Elf turned his cold gaze to Ologûk and stared long and hard at him. "You shall not speak to me as if I am a slave, arrogant beast," he at last hissed darkly, eyes flashing beneath the shadowy hood. But as his anger was focused on the leader of the Orcs he did not detect the abrupt approach of one behind him. Without warning, the Elf tumbled to the ground with a small cry, the crushing impact of a club bruising his back badly, and the bundle beneath his cloak slipped from his grasp and landed heavily nearby. The Elf crumpled to his knees when he hit the ground, harsh breath barely audible from the perfect lips beneath the hood as a white hand emerged to press tightly at his side. It was then that an overly curious and greedy Orc lunged forward, its mangled and hideous hands seizing the still form that had fallen with the Elf. It was a terrible mistake that he paid dearly for.

It was as if a bolt of lightning had struck the kneeling Elf, and suddenly the being's arm darted back over his shoulder and a flash of silver blinded the Orcs. There was the sickening sound of steel slicing through flesh, and the Orc that had touched his precious item collapsed dead at the Elf's feet. The Elf calmly wiped the bloody sword on the ground and re-sheathed it over his back. He seemed to realize where the point of attention had shifted to, and the emerald cloak was cast swiftly over the bundle, hiding the form from view. The Elf raised his cloaked head slowly; rage-filled eyes riveted on the hideous, stout captain of the party of _yrch_, and Ologûk recoiled under the wrathful stare. But suddenly the sharp determination and fury in those eyes rekindled a memory in the Orc's dim and twisted mind; and through his mind's eye Ologûk saw a beautiful little child, his crystal eyes wide with horror and anger as he crouched in the brush watching a prisoner as he was beaten.

Ologûk's eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Who are you?" He hissed, a hint of fear in his cruel voice, breaking the apprehensive silence. The Elf gave no answer at first, but gracefully rose to his feet, standing tall and great as the emerald eyes glittered down at the Orc. With a quick tug his long cloak again concealed the motionless bundle at his feet. But then he reached up slowly with a pale hand and in one swift movement swept back the hood of his cloak, and every Orc in the clearing took a step backwards. They gazed on in shock at the Elven-king of the realm, his eyes fierce and cold in his fair face. Power and ethereal light emanated from the being unhindered, and not one Orc noticed the dark stain that was spreading far too rapidly beneath pale fingers at his side.

"I am King Thranduil of the Woodland Realm, Son of Oropher, and I travel to Dol Guldur to discuss terms with the Dark Lord Sauron," The Elf announced intensely, his sweet voice firm and strong. "You shall wound me no more, or you shall face your master's wrath." Thranduil took the opportunity to pierce every one of them with his icy gaze, an act of defiance that was not missed by Ologûk. The Orc drew his blade and pointed it threateningly to Thranduil.

"Why should I not kill you now, fool of a king?" He sneered, even as his bowed legs quaked in terror.

Thranduil offered a dark smile. "My son bears the mark of your master-" He effortlessly tugged his cloak back to reveal the little prince curled up at his feet, asleep, "-and Sauron has requested my answer to his terms. My army shall destroy you right here if you harm me or my child again."

"I see no army," Ologûk remarked smugly, thinking he had outwitted the mighty king.

Thranduil raised an eyebrow. "They surround you even now, and you cannot detect their presence? I always knew the foul beasts of the likes of you were dumb. I shall show you. _Leithio i philinn!_"

All at once the sound of the rushing wind sounded through the forest around them, like the gusts of air that hissed through the mountain trees. They looked about in confusion and with narrowed eyes, but only a split-second later did they realize that the soft sound slicing between the tall trees was not the air. Shrieks exploded from the army when arrows rained in upon them, and chaos ensued for only an instant while Thranduil watched on. Soon a third of them lay dead, two dozen others wounded when the arrows ceased.

Now it was the Woodland King's turn to return a smug look. "They will not hesitate to fire at my command," he warned quietly. "I suggest you order your troops to drop their weapons, or the only weapon they will possess will be an Elven arrow in their thick skulls."

Ologûk reluctantly ordered his contingent to stand down. He was beginning to loathe this Elf with a passion; no prisoner of his should have the power to intimidate him. The Orc swore he would exact his revenge somehow. He watched in hatred as the king bent and gathered his motionless son into his arms, cradling the little body gently.

"Let me see the mark," Ologûk ordered sharply, strutting forward boldly. Thranduil shot him a fierce glare, as if daring him to take one more step. Ologûk stopped abruptly, but clenched his teeth and growled under his breath. "I will have you and the boy shot otherwise. You will be dead before your petty army can nock their arrows."

Although he doubted the truthfulness of the statement, Thranduil did not wish to put his child in a situation that would further endanger him. He could not afford anything going wrong now. So he parted the folds of the warm blankets Legolas was wrapped in and unfastened the thick tunic, and pulled it open to reveal the blackened scar. Ologûk's eyes narrowed and a slimy hand shot out in an attempt to touch the scar on the pale skin. Cold steel at his neck stopped him, and he froze.

"_Do not touch him!"_ The Elven voice rang sharp in the command, and there was a wild and defensive look in those emerald orbs. Ologûk backed away immediately, but he snarled and his red eyes flashed angrily.

"Fine!" He spat. "We shall take you to the fortress! I shall leave the majority of my men here in case you fail to cooperate, and if that occurs they shall attack your stronghold. But you shall run with us, and your hands will be bound. The boy will be tied to the horse. For the little filth's sake I hope the beast is strong enough to make it," Ologûk snickered, noticing how the horse's eyes were clouded with pain. He expected a retort from the king, but it shocked him to see the noble head dip in humble acceptance.

"So be it," Thranduil murmured.

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Taidîr smiled grimly as he watched the red fires flicker far below him as the Orcs moved about from encampment to encampment. Long had he waited for this opportunity, and the anticipation of striking out against the enemy triggered the thrilling rush of adrenaline that streaked through his veins.

They had traveled long and hard over the past hours, setting out the moment they believed Thranduil had reached the Orc encampment. He had traveled slowly, taking a day to reach them, but Taidîr and his men were confident that they could reach the Orcs in half that time. So they had set out, half moving east and the other half northwest. Those who set out east followed the River Running as it swerved south. The others took the Forest River west for nearly thirty-five leagues, but then turned south and slipped through the forest without a sound. In this way did the Elves effectively skirt around the encamped Orcs.

The Elves used the geography of the forest to their full advantage. The Forest River, the river that flowed in front of the king's palace, was stretched the entire width of the northern section of the forest. One of its tributaries was the Enchanted River (the very river a group of strange-looking stunted beings whose attempt to cross safely ended up disastrous centuries later), and this river flowed north from the _Taur-nu-Fuin_, creating a natural barrier that ran from the mountains to the Forest River. Nearly forty leagues east lay the River Running that ran south through Esgaroth and the Long Lake. So it was that a patch of the forest was enclosed on all four sides by natural barriers; the Forest River to the north, the Enchanted River to the west, the _Taur-nu-Fuin_ to the south, and the River Running to the east. The Orcs had made their encampments along the east bank of the Enchanted River and the northern borders of the mountains. So the Elves positioned themselves on the western border of the Enchanted River while the others scaled the mountains.

And there they waited for dusk.

Scouts now watched in the treetops as the sun stained the sky around it blood red, the eerie light fading fast. They called down softly for the soldiers to prepare to fire, and the army obeyed swiftly and silently. And then, when the sun slipped out of sight of the bloody sky, arrows sang through the darkness and found their fatal marks in the hearts of the Orcs. The enemy dropped silently, only a few shrieks uttered beneath the dark eaves, and soon there was silence in the patch of forest the Elves examined grimly. There were no cheers when all were pronounced dead, no grins or congratulations, for they knew that the hardest part now lay before them. Only Taidîr's heart was glad, for they had overcome the first great obstacle in the plan. And as he and his men descended from the jagged rocks of the mountains, their minds were closed to the outside world as they thought heavily about their future and the fate of their king.

So not a single Elf noticed when a hunched figure darted ahead of them.

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When the Orc party stopped for the night Thranduil was not encouraged by the fact that he felt weary. But he had refused to give in to the torments of the twisted beasts that had whipped him and taunted him throughout the past twenty-four hours he had been in captivity. The last time he had made a sound of pain was when he had been clubbed to the ground from the horse and the arrow shaft had broken, but since then the king had done his best to ignore the throbbing and focus his thoughts elsewhere. He forced himself to cope with the pain, despite the fact that his breathing no longer came easily but instead with harsh, shallow gasps, for he knew that there would be nothing but more pain before the blissful darkness captured him.

When he was at last allowed respite he was secured tightly to a tree, the ropes biting into his tender flesh, and there he was doomed to sit for the night. The Orcs bedded down, and after the fire died it grew terribly quiet. Here and there the glint of a creature's eyes flashed in the dark but disappeared almost instantly. The shadows cloaked this place in such darkness that his eyes had difficulties piercing the still of the night around him. But he could see his child across the clearing, still fastened to the horse. The faint glow that surrounded the boy and Elvish horse gave them away, and for a moment Thranduil worried that a creature would seek to attack them. But he reached out to the child and his noble steed, and through his mind set a barrier around them, proclaiming to the world that they were of his house and should not be touched. But then a pang of worry and guilt wrenched the hurt king's heart. _I never should have done this…I put the child in too much of a risk……I should have given him the sweetness of death, and guaranteed the safety of his soul by sending him to Mandos. But instead I chose to hand him to the enemy, and if I fail somehow Legolas' torment will never end, not even after death._

Thranduil laid his head back and shut his eyes. Tears threatened to take hold, but he refused to show weakness in the enemy's presence. He had promised himself he would not cry out when the torture came. But the king was not sure he could keep that promise. The thought of the torture and mutilation that awaited him suddenly welled up fiercely, and this time Thranduil did not have the strength to hold back the thought. The past day and night he had been forced to run he had been able to block the idea out. It had been easy then. He would look at the trees he was passing and conjure up memories of being in this place long ago, when the air was not so stale and the forest not so dark and lifeless. The instant he had procured a memory the Elf latched on to it and threw himself franticly into his sweet thoughts, away from the harsh world so he would not feel the stinging of the whip at his legs nor the agonizing dread in his heart that only grew with each step he took. There the Woodland King had hid in secret, away from the mere thought of the screams and pleas that his lips would soon utter. And he cursed himself for his weakness. _I should have faced those thoughts with strength_, Thranduil thought. But he no longer had the strength to do so. He had resigned himself to death, and the heavy weight on his heart was beginning to take the toll on his mind and body. Grief began to tug at the corners of his mind, threatening to yank him down and smother him under waves of guilt and depression. And the Elven-king began to let the grief and terror overcome him. The anguish of his soul longing for freedom started to eat away at his strength, draining him of the valor and courage he once had so much of. The ethereal light that had shone so brightly thirty leagues north when he had encountered the Orc encampment now waned. The fierce light in his eyes was dimming.

Thranduil knew that he was fading.

And so as the Elven-king slumped fully against the tree the terrible thoughts he had worked so hard to hold back slipped past the weak barrier he had erected, and his mind was assailed.

An hour later Thranduil awoke from a fitful sleep. He was grateful for the darkness, as it hid the streaks of dried tears upon his face and the misty look in his dim eyes. His imagination had wandered unchecked, and his heart had paid dearly for it. Weakened and grief-stricken, Thranduil no longer felt the dull ache in his side from the arrow. He no longer cared. His mind had given him the gift of terror through the horrible predictions of how he would die, and now it wreaked havoc upon his heart and soul.

Although grief and depression had set in and ripped at his heart, Thranduil begged for the light. Nothing in his memories seemed beautiful, the forest no longer whispered comforts, and his life did not feel cherished.

_End it now, before I suffer more…_

The ropes hurt him. Thranduil shifted in a desperate attempt to alleviate the chafing, but succeeded in discovering the way to escape the terrible life he led in brushing the arrow in his side.

His arms were pinned to his sides, and if he was simply able to get his right elbow over the shaft of the arrow the ropes would do the rest; the pressure would force his arm back against his side, and the arrow would be driven farther inside of him through his lung. If he was lucky the arrow was still long enough to reach his heart and he would die quickly. If not, he hoped he would be dead by morning.

But it was so easy to end it right now. He would not have to suffer and die in Dol Guldur. He could die under the trees, even if they were dead and lifeless, and it might be quick. The temptation was tearing at his thoughts. _Do it before they wake! You will not have time after this, for they shall force you to run the last half of the journey without stopping, and then you shall die slowly and painfully under Sauron's gaze!_

Thranduil could not resist the temptation that was seizing him. Tears of frustration trickled from his emerald eyes, and with a desperate moan he began to work furiously at pulling his arm over the arrow. He needed death so desperately now. He could not stop the urge to simply throw his arm over the arrow shaft and let his straining muscles relax. As he drew near to the position he required, Thranduil looked up and let his eyes rove over what he was certain would be his last sight. But as he prepared himself to let his arm muscles relax so the ropes could take over, he spotted his son.

_Legolas._

And in that instant he remembered why he was here. As he gazed upon his beautiful son that still slept across the clearing, his heart was filled with so much love for that little child that all thoughts of death escaped him, and he only thought of Legolas. Thranduil knew in that very instant what he had to do, and it seemed as if the sight of the Elfling gave him ten times the strength and courage he had possessed going into this adventure. He felt life and light flowing through his veins again, and the world seemed to look a little brighter. A weary and faint smile blessed the features of the Elven-king as his tense muscles relaxed as the sight of his little boy made his heart swell with happiness.

But the smile turned to a cry of pain a second later.

Realizing too late that his muscles had given in, the Elven-king gave an involuntary gasp and whimper of pain as the arrow dug sharply into him. His arm would not react to him as he struggled desperately to pull his arm off the arrow shaft, and there was an abrupt severe pain deep inside him, worse than what he had ever felt before. _NO!_ With a gasp he threw all his strength into yanking his arm back, and this time he succeeded. His breath harsh and panicked, Thranduil laid his head back against the tree in exhaustion as his side began to throb in newly discovered pain. Thranduil dared not move now as the arrow was positioned directly between two ropes, and the slightest of movement would cause the ropes to shift which would in turn disturb the arrow. But he risked a flare of more pain by turning his head carefully, and after blinking the sweat and tears from his eyes spotted what he was looking for.

In the brief amount of time he had before sleep overcame him, Thranduil's gentle eyes never left the form of his sleeping child. He would only be able to rest for a few hours before the Orcs woke him and untied him. They would begin traveling, and the Orcs would find that Thranduil was stronger than ever. This time Thranduil's gaze never left his son as he ran along, never stumbling. The Orcs grew angry that their prisoner was not weakening. But their leader promised them that all would be amended soon. He made sure he spoke loud enough so that the Elf could hear, and told his men how Sauron would wipe the defiant look off their prisoner's face, and how the Dark Lord would break the Elf-king and his little child.

"Not so loud!" One of the Orcs hissed in horror at Ologûk. "The king's archers will hear us!"

Ologûk merely grinned back at him, shaking his head. His beady eyes flashed over to Thranduil, making eye contact with the Elf with eyes flashing greedily.

"They don't follow us now," he hissed in return. His grin widened. "We're almost there."

XXXXXXXXXXXX

Nearly eighty-five leagues north lay an almost-deserted kingdom. It was silent there as a young Elf wandered about the corridors of the Elven-palace where the remainder of the population had relocated to temporarily. It was here that the handful of young ones just beneath the century mark and several of the women had lived for the past two days. The young Elf, upset that he was not allowed to fight, had spent the past hours trying to keep his mind off the fates of his friends and family that had gone off to battle. As he went about from room to room searching for a distraction, he suddenly found himself heading down the hallway that eventually led to the royal stables. The sound of a horse whinny startled him, and his footsteps quickened as the neighing grew more desperate and upset.

Rounding the corner to the stables quickly, the sight of a stable-hand struggling to calm the horse saddened him, and the Elf stopped at the door. He stayed there for a while, taking in the rich smells of the straw and horse in the dim sunlight that streamed in from the open windows. The stables were built on the very edge of the mountain palace with access to the outside. It was situated on the back of the mountain with corridors that easily could be sealed off should the enemy attack from the north. The king had requested that fresh air be readily available to his steeds, so windows had been carved out of the stone walls for sunlight and fresh air.

"Steady, Nimbaran!"

The concerned whisper of the stable-hand brought the Elf back to his senses. The stable-hand had just begun to settle the poor horse down. _It is a beautiful horse_, the Elf thought. From the forehead to the muzzle was shimmering white, a sapphire-silver streak as the perimeter of the large blaze. The rest of the horse was a warm burgundy color. The stallion was tall and well-built; muscles rippled in his chest and legs – he had grown much over the year. His eyes were a startling blue, and this surprised the Elf.

Nimbaran reared suddenly and the stable-hand backed away slightly. "Nimbaran, _daro!_" he cried gently. "What ails you, _pen-neth_?" Nimbaran gave a distressed whinny, but let the stable-hand approach and stroke his soft coat comfortingly. The stable-hand closed his eyes and leaned against the horse's muzzle, sighing deeply. He stood there for a long while, still patting the horse softly.

"What is wrong?" The Elf standing at the door moved forward slightly, his fair face troubled. The stable-hand turned his head and gazed at the young one with sadness in his gray eyes, his hands not leaving the horse's mane as Nimbaran bowed his proud head, a hoof pawing at the ground.

"He fears for his master," the stable-hand answered softly.

The young Elf's eyes widened at the stable-hand's words, for he understood the dread that was all too clear in that sweet voice that had moments ago whispered comforts to the Prince's horse.

XXXXXXXXXXXX

And so the first stage of the plan was set, but the hardest - and most terrifying - part was yet to come.

**TBC**

* * *

_+One of the many great riddles from Professor Tolkien's The Hobbit, the answer to which is 'darkness.'_

_Note: Nimbaran is a real horse – one of my best friends' neighbors has a horse that looks just like Nimbaran. I saw Moo (they thought he looked like a cow – which he kind of does, but only because of his colorings) when he was several months old and I knew I had to put him in this story. Now he's almost a year old, and he's grown quite big – almost larger than his mother! I did not want his appearance at the beginning of the story to be his only one, so I discovered a way to bring him back now that he's older. Thanks Tiana for taking me to go see Moo!_


	37. XXXVI: The Price of Love

**Mask of Innocence

* * *

****Chapter Thirty-six: The Price of Love**

XXXXXXXXXXXX

"**Light thinks it travels faster than anything but it is wrong. **

**No matter how fast light travels it finds the darkness has always got there first,**

**and is waiting for it."**

-_Terry Pratchett_

XXXXXXXXXXXX

Thranduil and the Orc party that detained him reached the outskirts of Dol Guldur in the late afternoon of that same day. By the time they had reached the twisted gates of the small, city-like stronghold Thranduil had begun to feel strangely, as if he was suddenly being watched and someone was breathing down his neck. His sudden apprehension must have startled his raven-haired stallion that carried his child still, for he whinnied and tossed his head anxiously as he trotted near the king.

Thranduil hushed him before the Orcs grew angry. "_Dîn, sador,_" he murmured comfortingly, letting his cool gaze calm the horse. "Save your fear for me for when we reach the Dark Tower."

His beautiful stallion obeyed, adjusting his proud stride to compensate for the child that remained sleeping on his back. The king was glad that his child was unconscious; he was not victim to the terrors and darkness that reeked from the cracks of the ancient fortress that they approached. Regret that he had brought his precious son here tugged incessantly at his heart and mind, but he refused to give in to it. He could not undo the past now.

The Orcs slowed as they approached the distorted metal gates at the base of Dol Guldur, and Ologûk audaciously turned a menacing glare on Thranduil. _He has grown far too bold since we have started south,_ Thranduil thought worriedly.

"Welcome to Dol Guldur, King Thranduil," the Orc hissed pompously, and behind him the tall gates swung open beneath the blackened treetops. The Woodland King felt his breath catch as he turned wide eyes upon the fortress and surrounding encampments called Dol Guldur. Black smog surrounded the upper-most pier of the dark tower that loomed over the surrounding tattered camps. It was as if permanent darkness had settled over Dol Guldur, engulfing the Hill of Black Magic in eerie shadows. Red fires glared out from several of the clusters of Orcs upon the hill. On the looming tower were carved crude red symbols and letters, and when Thranduil's eyes were set upon them he felt an icy chill seize him suddenly, and he looked away from those foreboding words.

Thranduil was yanked brutally back to the outside world when Ologûk addressed him roughly. "Mount your beast."

"I do not take orders from the likes of you," he retorted sharply. But Ologûk responded with a vicious ferocity and leapt at the tall Elf with a drawn blade.

"Do it!" the Orc screeched, eyes alight with untamed fury. A split-second later Thranduil's emerald eyes closed briefly in an attempt to numb the sharp pain from the blade now embedded in his shoulder.

"Blades do not rule me," Thranduil answered quietly, his green eyes flickering over the Orc defiantly. His face betrayed no pain. Ologûk snarled furiously; his patience was thinning perilously with his prisoner. With no gentleness whatsoever he ripped his crusty blade from the king's left shoulder and stalked to Thranduil's stallion, yanking Legolas' head back to expose the perfect white throat. The dripping knife lay threateningly over the artery there, where blood pumped steadily beneath the fair skin.

"_Do not harm him!" _Thranduil lunged forward as best as possible with wounds and ropes fighting against his body, but his eyes did what his body could not. If glares had the power to kill, Ologûk would have been incinerated the instant before he had touched the king's child. _But if I had my way the beast would have died the very moment I set eyes upon it,_ the Woodland King thought wistfully.

Ologûk's grip on Legolas tightened; Thranduil's power and might obviously no longer frightened him. "Then mount the horse!" he snapped. It was with great reluctance but incredible devotion for his child that Thranduil stepped forward and demanded his bonds removed so he could mount. Ologûk complied with a grunt, and after a moment of massaging his chafed wrists Thranduil settled himself upon his faithful stallion, untying his child and cradling the boy close.

"I missed you greatly, little one," he whispered consolingly to his oblivious child. With a gentle kiss Thranduil adjusted the blankets that for the most part kept Legolas warm and comfortable, and wheeled his horse about to face the gates. "Take me to Sauron," he ordered stiffly. He was in command once again. Ologûk's eyes flashed, but with anger or anticipation the Elf could not tell.

"Your wish is my command, Thranduil King," he sneered quietly. He gave a mock-bow, and the king's eyes narrowed. This Orc was much too confident now. This made him fear Sauron all the more, but he resolved not to give into that fear.

And so Thranduil entered Dol Guldur, the Hill of Sorcery and fortress of Sauron, his child cradled at his chest and his noble head held high and strong. The Woodland King ignored the jeers and taunts of the Orcs around him as he advanced up the hill as his eyes were locked upon the iron doors that led into the fortress before him. The enemy spat at his feet and brought their weapons dangerously close to his horse and body, but Thranduil did not stop on the long, dark path up to the enemy's stronghold. He stopped at the great black doors and dismounted. He turned the stallion about and slapped its rump, and the steed galloped away through the gates and into the forest where he was safe from harm. And then without a single glance back did Thranduil stride forward strong and proud into Sauron's fortress, his child cradled in his arms.

But he was surprised to find the cold, dark entranceway empty and silent. The king advanced cautiously, a quiet ring resonating throughout the polished corridor as his gleaming sword was drawn. "I have come to speak terms, Sauron," he announced warily, eyes flickering to the shadows, but no one answered. His tenor voice echoed eerily in the hallway. Warrior instinct beginning to kick in, the Elven-king kept moving albeit somewhat slowly and cautiously, and he stayed close to the cold walls. He could hear absolutely nothing of the Orcs outside now. Thranduil followed the red torches in the twisted sconces on the walls up a slick set of stairs that led up in a never-ending spiral. He came out on the second and highest level of the tower. Still not a single sign of life had been produced, but the king could not shake the feeling that someone was breathing down his neck, and his heartbeat drummed loudly in his beautifully-sculpted ears. Thranduil followed the wide length of the corridor, passing dozens upon dozens of locked doors, all the time feeling more and more apprehensive. Something lay at the end of the corridor; that he knew. The darkness veiled the ending, and even his keen eyes were not able to pierce it. He drew closer and closer, sword brandished protectively before him, until he could see great doors towering above him. An eye was carved deep into the obsidian rock, and the very gates reeked of evil.

"The Mark of Sauron," Thranduil breathed. His feet stepped hesitantly towards the entry, but he gathered a deep breath and clutched his child tightly. "Reveal yourself, Sauron!" He shouted challengingly. "I have come to negotiate terms, O dark lord of evil!"

The gates seemed to accept the challenge and appeared to open by themselves, swinging open wide enough for Thranduil to slip through.

"Welcome, Thranduil King."

Thranduil's eyes bored hard into the form that was reclined comfortably in a tall, black throne. The figure was shrouded in darkness and fear, clothed in evil, and stared back at the Elven-king with mild amusement through fiery red eyes. A black cloak hung from the almost-transparent broad shoulders, and one thick hand lay limp in the spirit's lap while the other was tucked inside his cloak at his waist.

"Sauron," Thranduil answered bitterly. The Dark Lord's mouth twitched into a smile.

Sauron calmly gazed back. "Yes, little king, it is I; the Dark Lord Sauron." The shadow's eyes flickered over Thranduil critically, a hint of distaste glowing there. They flashed at the sight of the bundle in Thranduil's arms, and his smile widened. Thranduil was acutely aware of Sauron's discovery and with a hardening stare his hands tightened defensively over his child.

"And this must be the heir of Thranduil," Sauron commented scornfully, studying the prince's still form. His eyes abruptly narrowed and flickered up to meet Thranduil's sharp gaze. "If you have come to demand the return of your child, save your breath; I have given my terms, so take them or leave them."

Thranduil held himself high, eyes dark and challenging. "And I am here to offer mine. Remove yourself from my child and I shall give you my land. But my people and child you shall let free, and they shall be allowed safe passage out of this forest."

Sauron let out a bark of laughter. "Thranduil, I never knew you were so daft. You know my answer, so I need not speak it."

"Then you shall face the wrath of Lothlorien, Rivendell, Rohan, and Gondor, Sauron," Thranduil retorted sharply. "I shall leave this place and demand their aide, and together we shall drive you out of this fortress. The Lord and Lady of Lórien shall accompany us in the siege, and you shall be thrown down from your throne and cast out."

The Dark Lord stiffened in alarm. "Celeborn and Galadriel, you say?" A trace of anxiousness crossed his stony face, but it disappeared almost instantly. Long had he feared them, and he suspected that the root of his fears was in perhaps an Elven ring; but he knew not if one of the Three lay hidden in the Golden Wood. But in those fiery eyes Thranduil saw his uncertainty and doubt, and he knew that his plan was working.

"They have the power to destroy you," Thranduil continued, his eyes studying the spirit's reactions closely. "You know this to be true. Accept my terms, and I shall give you something extra."

The Dark Lord's brow furrowed and his attention was riveted once again upon the Elven-king before him. "Something extra? Of what do you speak?"

The Woodland King felt his heart clench, but he ignored the screaming instinct in his gut and answered:

"I shall pay you with my life and body."

Thranduil heard his words echo in dark throne room where he stood and was surprised to hear a faint tremble in his tenor voice. The king drew a shaky breath to steady himself; there was no going back now. Sauron's eyes were gleaming with desire and hatred.

"So if I remove my influence from your precious prince, set him free and allow your people to leave the forest I am free to destroy you and take your land?" There was doubt in the Dark Lord's deep voice, but he could not mask the disbelief and excitement.

Thranduil nodded his head, expression solemn. "This is true," he answered softly.

A wide grin spread across the Dark Lord's face. "We have come to terms," he replied, eyes flashing. He rose from his throne, towering above Thranduil with lust in his eyes, and the king felt dread seep into his heart.

"Release my son first," the king requested softly, holding his ground. "Then you may take me."

Sauron dipped his head with a sweet smile on his face. "Of course, Thranduil."

The Elf sheathed his sword swiftly and opened the blanket that held his child so Sauron could see him. It was with great self-control that he allowed the Dark Lord to reach out with an icy hand and place his transparent fingers upon the boy's forehead. The instant the two made contact Legolas stiffened in his arms. A dark chanting filled the room, echoing loudly and increasing the tension overhead. The prince's father could feel roiling heat emanating from his child and enemy, but he did not recoil. This was something he had to do for Legolas. But his eyes never left his child, ready to pull away the instant something seemed to go wrong. The tension increased rapidly, and beneath his eyelids Legolas' eyes roved back and forth. His breathing grew fast, his heartbeat dangerously high. Thranduil could feel the desperate battle fighting inside his child's mind as Sauron strove to undo what he had done, and he could only pray it would turn out in favor of his child.

But then it was over. The chanting stopped, and Sauron stepped back. Legolas stirred ever so faintly in the king's arms, and that simple movement sent waves of relief washing over Thranduil. His son's aura glowed healthily and strong, and the king heard and felt the Song of Ilúvatar rise up in joy inside the boy. Legolas' _faer _blossomed warmly, and the child breathed easily.

_But is he free?_

"Legolas?" Thranduil's voice was trembling, eyes wide. His child's lashes fluttered open to reveal bright sapphire eyes free of the agony and darkness that had plagued him for so long.

"…_Ada…"_ The prince's voice was weak, but there was love in that sweet sound. Thranduil's heart broke, and tension that had built up for nearly a year gushed from his body through his tears.

"Oh Legolas, my child; my sweet, sweet child…" the father wept, and he pressed his son close. "You are free…" He could not stop the tears from flowing, and he wept over his son as the boy clutched at him. His precious son was free at last. _Vanya, our son has been saved…_Deep within him Thranduil felt his wife's joy and happiness, and he cradled his son all the closer.

"I love you, _Ada._"

Thranduil thought that he would never be able to hear that beautiful voice or see those soft blue eyes enough in his lifetime. "And I love you, my dear son;" the king whispered, "more than life itself."

"Oh, my heart would break to see such a lovely reunion ruined so quickly."

Thranduil's heart froze when heavy footsteps around him thudded loudly in his ears. _Please, Sauron; not yet…_He heard rather than saw Sauron's smirk.

"But alas for me; I have no heart, so I shall not feel any pain."

Rough hands clamped on Thranduil's shoulders and tore his child from his arms. "_No!" _The king struggled futilely against the hands that held him back, his arms reaching franticly for the pale hands flung out towards him. Flesh met flesh for an instant, and the father grasped his child's fingers tightly but an instant later the contact vanished. A dozen Orcs had the king now pinned, and more were ready to take their places.

A feeble voice came from a pack of Orcs: "_Ada,_ help me!"

"_Legolas!"_

His child's cries awoke a terrible desperation in Thranduil. "Let me go! My child_…please!_ Release me!" He thrashed with all his strength against the Orcs, but it was to no avail. Several Orcs fell from his swift blows, and an opening appeared before him. The desperate father lunged for freedom, but several of his enemies leapt for him and drove him to the ground with their weapons. Dazed from their blunt blows, he watched on in sheer horror and grief, held up and yet pinned down at the same time, as his child's feet and hands were bound and tears streaked the little one's beautiful cheeks. Sauron blocked his view abruptly.

"_Saes,_ let me see him a little longer!" Thranduil begged the Dark Lord, still struggling. "_Anno nín_ _ion-nín!_ By Eru, Sauron, you promised-!"

An icy hand struck his fair cheek hard. "I promised nothing of the sort," Sauron's gaze was cold. He whirled around to face the child. Legolas whimpered and struggled anxiously to get away when the Dark Lord advanced with a blade, his beautiful eyes wide with terror. Thranduil's heart was crushed horrendously when he heard the moan of pain from his child and the patter of blood on the floor, and he answered with an anguished sob. Sauron turned back around with a vial in one hand and the other cupped to hold a pool of blood. Uncorking the vial with his black teeth the Dark Lord then proceeded to let a single drop of the mixture land in the pool of blood. As soon as the droplet touched the surface of the blood, Legolas began to scream. Thranduil watched on helplessly as the blood began to swirl and glow brightly before a resounding crack was heard and a perfectly-chiseled large ruby lay in Sauron's hand, a white fire burning in the center. Legolas' screams died to agonizing whimpers, and Thranduil's heart began to beat again.

"What have you done?" he exclaimed in a horrified whisper. "What have you done to my son!"

The Dark Lord grinned mockingly at him. "Look at the crystal and tell me what you see inside it."

Thranduil refused to answer, but his eyes were glued upon the fire flickering inside the ruby's depths. Already it had begun to dim, but ever so slightly.

"The fire represents your precious child's life;" Sauron continued quietly, eyes focused on Thranduil and greatly relishing the father's utter horror. "When it is gone, Legolas - Prince of the Woodland Realm and son of the mighty King Thranduil - will lie dead."

Thranduil's face turned ashen, and his eyes snapped up to Sauron's glinting stare.

…_will lie dead…_

In an instant he pictured his beautiful little child limp on the floor. He could feel the icy flesh beneath his fingers. He could hear the silence of his son. He could see the cold, lifeless eyes staring back at him. He could smell the corpse, rotting already from the poison eating up his insides. He saw Legolas' body. The father saw his dead child.

"_No!"_ Thranduil screamed, franticly struggling and shutting his eyes against the terrible idea, but his dead child would not fade from his mind's eye.

"Oh yes, dear king, it is true." Sauron turned to his minions. "Let him go." They obeyed, and the weeping father collapsed to the floor and gathered his crying son into his arms.

"Legolas…_ion-nín_…my precious boy…" Thranduil sobbed into the little prince's silky hair. "It was not supposed to happen like this…"

"_Ada_, what's happening to me?" Legolas' trembling voice broke in. "Am I going to die?" But his father did not have the heart to answer, and he pressed the little one all the closer to his heart, desperately thinking that if he held his son close enough he would somehow be able to trap the life inside him. _I had sworn I would not let death take my child. I had been willing to toss my life and land away just to preserve my little one's immortality. But now I have failed him, and we shall all die for nothing. _He vaguely realized that the Orcs were leaving and heard the door grind shut behind them before silence engulfed the three.

"Such a beautiful son, and such a loving father," a dark voice drifted downwards into Thranduil's keen ears. The king shut his eyes tightly as Legolas' quick breathing began to slow, and only seconds later the panicking child fell limp in his father's arms when he passed out from fatigue, terror and the poison. Thranduil tried to make his beautiful child comfortable on the cold floor, and kissed the pale brow.

"You swore that you would not hurt him," Thranduil whispered warily, his hand straying to his Greenleaf's smooth cheek. "You swore that you would not harm my child!" He whirled around, tears slipping down his cheeks. Thranduil stumbled to his feet, the arrow in his side still paining him. "You swore!" he shouted as he reached behind his back for his long knife. It rang threateningly as it was drawn, and he advanced towards the Dark Lord with anguish and rage flashing in his emerald gaze. He thought of nothing but revenge as he lunged, wielding his sword dangerously. His son was going to die, and it was all because of this _thing_ standing in front of him. But grief and anger blinded him, and he did not see the blade hurtling through the air at him until it was too late.

At the impact of Sauron's blade Thranduil stumbled backwards in shock, his free hand fumbling for the knife embedded in his chest. He felt very little pain as his steps faltered and he fell weakly against a wall. He looked down at his wound and struggled for breath. But he praised the Valar for the craftsman who had created his armor. Without armor he would have been slain instantly. Blood still oozed out from the large puncture hole the blade had made in his flawless armor and there was still an uncomfortable amount of pain, but he was in no danger of dying just yet. With a grunt he extracted the blade from several layers of skin and metal. He started to push himself off the wall and regain his balance, but with a groan he was slammed brutally back into the obsidian rock.

Hot breath struck his cheek as a voice hissed at him angrily. "Your courage is touching, but you remain as blind and helpless as you were a millennium ago." A memory sprang to the surface of Thranduil's mind, a memory he had long tried to bury and forget, and he could not help but hear his father's dying cry as the powerful king collapsed to the ground, speared by Orcs on the blackened battlefield. Thranduil swallowed, trying so very hard to forget that he had been too late to save his father, a fact that had nearly destroyed him years ago.

"But you swore you would not harm him," the Woodland King croaked out as his throat was constricted by an iron grip. An eerie cackle reached his ears.

"Nay, I did not," Sauron replied menacingly. "I promised you his freedom, but you failed to specify what kind of freedom you wished him to have."

"No!"

"Yes, dear Elven-king. And you promised me your life and body, so I only saw it fitting to destroy your heart as well."

The pinned Elf felt tears of frustration slip down his face. Valar, it had all gone so wrong. He had not saved his child at all…but maybe there was a chance of saving those who had come to fight for his and his child's freedom.

He opened his eyes and found himself incredibly close to Sauron's face. He pulled a stony mask over his grief-ravaged features, and fixed Sauron with a dead gaze. "Then kill me," he demanded quietly. "Fight me here until you have had your sport, and then take me outside to die so your minions can see. I have no desires anymore, save to die under the stars with my child by my side."

Sauron glared long at him. "You shall die outside as you wish," he allowed darkly. He stepped back and allowed his prisoner to stand, shoving his sword into his hands. "But take heart, little king. You will not sit chained to a wall to rot away the years until I decide your fate because you bore me. You shall die soon, and under the sky as you wish. But you shall not see the stars when you die. Instead, you shall see the gleaming eyes of my Orcs glaring down upon you as they beat and curse and spit upon your body. And you will scream and beg for death, for both I and my slaves shall make the last hours of your life a living hell."

"Since when does the Abhorred One spare his slaves and prisoners of pain?" Thranduil asked skeptically, rising slowly.

A twisted smile flitted across Sauron's face. "When you strike at a king, you must kill him," he offered with a malicious smile. He then produced a hideous black sword from beneath his cloak and brandished it wickedly, a strange gleam in his eye. Thranduil shook off the aches and throbbing of his wounds and raised his blade in challenge, expression stony and fierce. He would not die without a fight. And with a prayer for a quick death for both he and his child and a fierce cry, the son of Oropher leapt forward to strike the spirit-like form of his captor, and the battle that was certain to be his last began.

**TBC

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_Note: Sauron's last piece of dialogue is credited to Ralph Waldo Emerson who is the man responsible for such a chilling quote. I would like to extend my thanks to ThinkExist Quotations for the excellent quotes on hundreds of topics – it has been wonderful to find a piece of a poem, speech, conversation, etc. that fits my chapter perfectly. Hannon le!_**

_To my reviewers: ...I guess a 'sorry' isn't quite going to cut it for this chapter, huh. Just keepin mind that a dead author can't post chapters and finish writing the story. ;) Thanks to_ **Enigma Jade** _(a new reviewer - yipee!),_ **EverWindingStairs, luthien thranduiliel, ElvenHope, GreenLady247, Faerlas, **& **LazloTitan36. **_I cannot explain how grateful I am to those who take the time to review!

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	38. XXXVII: Words & Swords

**Mask of Innocence**

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_So sorry for the delay- these chapters must be perfect before I post, and school work, track and Student Council elections are piling up so high! And sorry for the same old excuse...but it's true! ;) This chapter does have a **mild warning**, however, for violence. Read with caution, but it's not too bad...at least not yet..._

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**Chapter Thirty-seven: Words that Bite, Swords that Strike**

_Black smoke drifted out of the dragon's nostrils as he retreated, gleaming red eyes locked on his prey. The weakened knight stumbled back, breathing heavily. Golden tendrils of hair were plastered to the poor knight's forehead, and his face was abnormally ashen-colored. Glazed over pain-filled emerald eyes blinked blood from his vision as the hurting warrior leaned heavily on his sword, and he begged silently for more time in the uncertain abyss that lay between the present and the next strike of the claws. But he knew his wish would not be granted, at least not for a great while. The battle was terribly one-sided and unfair; here he was, a lone knight, fighting a great, evil dragon. Even his formidable skills in fighting were no match for the dragon's prowess. His strikes would simply bounce harmlessly off the great scales, try as he must to strike the soft underbelly, for even the weakest point on the dragon was as hard as diamond. But that was only if he managed to strike the evil Worm; many times had his gleaming blade fallen short of its destination._

_They had been fighting for many hours now. The knight's courage and confidence were waning dangerously. He felt his resolve and strength ebbing greatly, and with harsh breath stumbled back for a brief respite while his predator watched him greedily. Always he felt those piercing eyes upon him, and he had little hope in evading the razor-like claws anymore. Already his blood dripped to the ground and collected in small puddles here and there, but the knight still had refused to give in to the inevitable. His glinting, luminous treasure lay in the corner, sparkling back with unrivaled beauty in its glimmering gems and gold. It was his duty and desire to protect the treasure until his dying breath, and he swore that he would not fail._

_The dragon struck far too soon for the knight's liking. He desperately whirled out of the way of those terrible black claws and ducked low to avoid the sweep of the mighty tail. He had hardly any strength left for an offensive strike. He was being pushed more and more to the defensive side of battle, and his attacks grew more and more rare. He raised his sword only to defend now and moved only when he knew death would take him if he did not; he chose to endure the non-mortal blows in an attempt to conserve his energy, but he felt inescapable darkness creeping up on him. And so it was that the wounded knight did not have the strength, time or will to throw himself out of the way when the claws came slicing through the air once again…_

Thranduil gave a pained cry as he crumpled to the ground for what felt like the millionth time, drawing his breath through clenched teeth on his knees. Warm blood splattered on bruised flesh as Sauron's blade cut a deep slash in the young father's back. He knelt there with gasping breath as the Dark Lord circled around him slowly, watching his prisoner with poorly-disguised delight.

"How many more times will you rise, little king, just to be driven back to the ground with another wound?"

Thranduil did not answer, his eyes shut tightly against the pain coursing through his veins. If this was not hell, he did not wish to know what was.

"On your feet, Thranduil," Sauron ordered quietly with ill-concealed disgust. When the king did not rise, he kicked Thranduil brutally in the side. His prisoner collapsed soundlessly at impact, clutching his right side where he now bled profusely from the arrow wound. Sauron's eyes narrowed in anger. "_Get up!"_ He ruthlessly yanked Thranduil up by his throat with his transparent grip and held him high, letting the king's feet dangle limply off the ground.

The Elf let his sword slip from his grasp as his hands flew to his throat and Sauron's fingers that he could not harm, instinctively making an attempt to alleviate the pain the crushing grip caused. "I am afraid I begin to grow tired of you, Thranduil," came the mocking voice, a hint of distaste marring the smooth sound. "It is not a good thing for me to become bored, for then I grow reckless with you. In a few minutes you may find yourself hanging from chains in the dungeons, a specialist methodically breaking every bone in your body, one by one. Or, perhaps, you will lie in the hands of my Orcs, and I am sure your mind can give some clue as to what awaits you with my minions."

A dark humor and delight had entered Sauron's voice, and if it was at all possible Thranduil would have caught his breath in dread. But instead a black haze began to cloud his vision as his body begged for air, and a faint ringing filled his ears as Thranduil gasped in vain for a precious bit of oxygen to sustain him. Just as he thought he was going to pass out he felt Sauron's fierce gaze leave the sight of him. In an instant the iron grip vanished and Thranduil fell heavily to the floor, coughing and gasping in air hungrily. As his coughs quieted to soft moans Thranduil lay limply on the ground with his eyes closed. He begged for the blissful darkness to come and claim him so he would feel no more pain for at least a little while, and he knew that that time would come soon. But then he heard the shouting coming from outside the heavy iron doors.

A panicked coarse voice echoed faintly into the room: "Master – they have come!"

There was no reason for Thranduil to listen to the conversation, but the words sparked a strange horror in his heart. _My men…they have been discovered!_ The king's eyes snapped open in dismay. His heart sank even farther, and tears of frustration threatened to overcome him. He had failed. They all had failed. Father, son, friends, wizards, soldiers – they were all going to die.

_And all because of me, and the choice I made._

A single tear slipped down his face in defeat. _I must avenge them. Or I must try to keep Sauron from knowing. If I can give them more time, perhaps that will help them. I would be shamed and shunned if I was not to act in defense of my people!_

And so it was that with a shout Thranduil seized his shining blade and rolled stiffly to his feet, throwing himself in front of Sauron as the Dark Lord advanced towards the iron doors. "Our battle is not finished yet, Sauron!_"_ He wielded his blade threateningly, bringing it up to challenge his enemy. Noble pride and rage rippled through the king's veins, and the Elf stood tall and strong with dignity. His power radiated from his beautiful body, emerald eyes fierce. Any Orc would have cowered at the sight. But anger blazed through him when Sauron cackled back at him.

"You must truly want to die, Thranduil," Sauron said with a mocking grin upon his shadowed face. His eyes narrowed when Thranduil growled and leapt forward with a vicious swipe of his sword. But the sword went straight through the Shadow like it had done so many times before. The Dark Lord surprised the weakened Elven-king when he seized the sword as it sang through the air and continued it on its path upwards. But in one abrupt movement he twisted the blade backwards as it reached its peak height and forced it over Thranduil's head, at the same time backing the king into the obsidian rock behind him. Thranduil, stunned, realized that he had been successfully – and effortlessly – pinned; his fingers were crushed in Sauron's tight grip around the pommel behind his head and the blade of his sword was now pressed tightly into the flesh along his spine. He knew it would not take much if Sauron chose to thrust him into the blade for his spine to snap, killing him instantly. Thranduil looked with slight fear and shock into Sauron's red eyes that pierced him.

"This puts you in an uncomfortable position, does it not?" he sneered, pressing Thranduil slightly harder against the blade. The Dark Lord was rewarded with a flinch of pain. He smiled evilly, and shifted his grip so he freed one of his mighty hands. And then he let an icy finger trail down Thranduil's flesh, through wounds on his face to the smooth neck, down on the silky vest and over the cold armor until his fingers felt warmth again; blood made the silk slippery where an arrow had pierced the Elf. "What is this I feel; an arrow?" Sauron's light tone turned dark when an icy grip twisted the arrow shaft abruptly. Thranduil let out a cry and quieted to pain-filled whimpers as Sauron let up.

"G_wanno ereb nín! Daro!" _Thranduil gasped out, writhing under Sauron's grasp.

The Dark Lord laughed softly. "How fitting it is for a father to cry his son's words."

The Woodland King tensed abruptly, struggling franticly, but he could do no more than give a frustrated yell when pain seared up his spine. "Leave my child out of this!" He shouted, eyes defensive and agonized. "My son did not harm you, and you poison him! Your quarrel is with me, no one else!" By now tears streamed down his face; the pain and built-up anger had caught up with him. "My child is innocent! Innocent, do you hear me! His childhood was stolen from him when his mother died. He never deserved this; never!" Thranduil's knees grew weak, and he wept bitterly. But he was shocked to suddenly feel Sauron's grip on his hands vanish, and without a second thought he slid to the ground and laid there, emerald eyes full of grief. His sword clattered to the floor nearby, but he cared not. Nothing mattered now; nothing at all.

He could hear Sauron step back away from him and silently blessed the Valar for a respite from the battle. But his tears kept coming. The hurt father cracked open his eyelids to see what his enemy was doing. He shuddered under Sauron's hateful stare. "That is why I chose him, Elf-King," Sauron hissed. "His innocence and beauty would have deterred any negative thoughts when he rose to the throne at such a young age. No one would have guessed that little Legolas murdered his father while he slept. But once Legolas became king it would matter no longer. He would have possessed the power to govern your people subsequent to your slaying, and as I am sure he won the peoples' hearts after his mother's _tragic_ death-" Thranduil's temper rose dangerously at Sauron's sarcastic tone. "-it would make my task all the easier. Through your child I would have slowly and carefully laid the trap of destruction for your people; a saboteur, I suppose I could be called. And then, at the right time, I would have sprung my trap, and watch as all your little people flock to the palace for safety when the Orcs arrive at their doorstep to find that their precious king will not open the door. The Orcs would have decimated your people and those lucky enough to escape the time before their death would only be prolonged, for then I would gain control over all of Mirkwood, and access to the Misty Mountains, Dale, Esgaroth, the Long Lake; Rhovanion itself. And then I, the Dark Lord Sauron, would have destroyed Middle-earth, and taken it all for my own!

"But your child interfered, and it was all ruined. He suffered in the supernatural realm, but now he shall pay the ultimate price for what he has done. But you shall be the first to die. Already the flame in the ruby has decreased by three-quarters of its original size, but you shall die soon, I promise you that. And when I am done here, your realm shall burn and your people will die."

Thranduil said nothing as he watched rage and wildness blaze in his captor's fierce stare, and he felt himself beginning to fear this shadow that towered over him. His terrified gaze flitted over his unconscious son, who lay so quietly and sadly in the corner, and concern and courage began to warm his cold heart. "But you failed then, and you shall fail to conquer my realm now and in the time to come," Thranduil promised quietly, courage lending him some strength. He pushed himself up weakly, fierce emerald eyes never leaving Sauron. "My people are strong and loyal to me, and even if you slaughter them one by one, you shall never conquer the Wood-Elves' hearts. Our spirits are unyielding, our hearts unbreakable, our minds unassailable, and our love undeniable."

Sauron was seething in anger by the time Thranduil finished his defense, and with a wild screech seized Thranduil once again by the throat and smashed him against the wall in rage. The king gave a low groan before he crumpled limply to the cold floor, awareness fleeing him.

"Take your rest now, little Elf, for when you wake you will wish the fool of a woman your pitiful father made love to never brought you into this bleak world," Sauron spat cruelly, his temper at his boiling point. And with a vicious kick in his captive's ribs Sauron stalked away and wrenched open the doors, and learned of how the Wood-Elves had come to Dol Guldur.

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_Earlier that day_

Darkness cloaked Taidîr and the army as they advanced quickly and silently towards Dol Guldur. Some were on horseback, but the majority was on foot. Taidîr surveyed his warriors with a critical eye as he sat upon his chestnut-colored steed. They were all seemingly very calm about the battle that lay ahead. Their fair faces, male or female, gave no hint as to whether or not they felt any apprehension. A mortal would not have been able to tell the difference if he had looked at a rage-filled Elf and a calm one; unless, however, the rage-filled one held a blade to the aforementioned mortal's throat. But Taidîr knew what his warriors felt. Their gait, their stride, the tension (or lack thereof) in the smooth shoulders, the sudden piercing glance, and even down to the slightest rise and fall of their chests Taidîr knew what each and every one of them was feeling at a given time. For the past several hours the captain had performed a routine task every few minutes; he chose one soldier and studied them for signs of apprehension, grief, joy, hatred – anything notable. He would have picked another to occupy him, but just then a maiden caught his eye.

Taidîr watched her for a little while as the she-Elf walked along alone - they did not march in ranks but advanced separately, for the dense trees and underbrush made it difficult to stay quiet and together - but on a sudden impulse he dismounted and made his way to her side. She hardly glanced at him when he appeared beside her, averting her chocolate-brown eyes from his lighter ones. Her breathing did quicken slightly, but she did not speak up. Taidîr, on the other hand, continued to watch her with a mixture of emotions swirling in his gaze, varying from love to worry to shock to confusion.

At last Taidîr spoke, his voice soft. "Why did you come?"

The maiden did not answer, but let her eyes flutter close briefly, as if in pain. The Elven captain seized her hand gently but firmly with a sudden need, his fingers interlacing with hers. "Adlanniel," he began, murmuring her name with such tenderness and concern that Adlanniel could not help but meet the worried gaze of her beloved.

"Yes, my lord?" Adlanniel's voice trembled ever so slightly, betraying her tears. She did not squeeze her beloved's hand as he did to hers, and seemed to wish he was not here at all.

"Why do you go to fight?" he asked her, fair eyes full of nothing but concern for his beloved Adlanniel. "The last night we were home…"

Adlanniel's eyes closed. "That night was a mistake, Taidîr," she whispered. "My father was so upset when he learned of our engagement that was made without his blessing-"

"I was not speaking of that, and you know it." Taidîr's voice hardened, and it almost sounded a little too harsh on Adlanniel's ears. Indeed, she did know what Taidîr spoke of, but she desperately wanted to avoid the other occurrence of the night. The maiden winced at Taidîr's reprimand, and bit her lip. The Elven captain immediately regretted what he had said, but had no time to apologize for Adlanniel began to speak.

"I fight because it is my duty," she answered softly.

"You were never good at lying, _meleth,_" Taidîr murmured gently, a sad smile crossing his face. He gave her interlaced fingers a reassuring squeeze. "Tell me, _saes. _I will listen."

XXX

_The light of Ithil held the forest in full radiance, soft light enveloping the Woodland Realm's occupants in a gentle glow. Beneath the eaves of the forest the moonlight somehow managed to reach through the thick branches overhead and catch an Elf and his beloved where they reclined in each other's arms against a proud oak. Often enough the trees surrounding the small meadow had witnessed the two retreat here to be alone with one another. Normally on such nights their soft voices could be heard whispering to one another their secrets or promises. Time to time a melodious laugh would break the gentle conversation only to quiet again while one of the lovers, usually the gentleman, stopped to gaze at his beautiful partner before catching those sweet lips in the softest of kisses. There they would sit together for hours, dreaming away with their beloved at their side, until other engagements called them away and forced to part the two seemingly-inseparable sweethearts._

_But this was not such a night._

_Ithil instead found two grieving lovers beneath the great oak. The Elf-maiden lay curled in her beloved's arms, tears slipping down her face as the Elf held her close. Her weeping echoed softly throughout the clearing, and Taidîr held Adlanniel all the closer as he felt her delicate shoulders shudder. He wanted so much to beg her to stop crying, and to tell her that it would all work out in the end, but even he was not sure if he would return. Valar, how he wished he was certain that he would come back from Dol Guldur alive. Taidîr looked down upon Adlanniel. Her chocolate-brown hair hung in sleek ripples down her back that spilled onto his chest. The beautiful curls trembled slightly as her tears continued to fall, dampening his shirt. One of Adlanniel's hands was curled about his neck, the other alternating between clutching and caressing his shoulder. The sight of her nearly broke Taidîr's heart._

"_Adlanniel…hush, meleth-nín. Hush…" He tried desperately to soothe her. Adlanniel quieted remarkably, but held her lover all the tighter._

"_Please do not leave me, Taidîr," she whispered, pain and grief emanating from her body. "Please…"_

_Taidîr closed his eyes. "Goheno nín, meleth-nín. I fear I must – it is my duty."_

_An anguished sob slipped past Adlanniel's lips, and she raised her head to gaze at Taidîr through tear-filled brown eyes. Her lips were pressed together in a thin line in an attempt to hold back sobs, and she reached up with a trembling hand to caress the captain's smooth cheek. "You may never return to me…" she murmured, grief-stricken._

"_I know." Taidîr's eyes fluttered shut against tears, but one managed to escape and slid down his cheek. _

_Adlanniel brushed it away, leaning in to kiss him gently. "My beloved Taidîr, you do not have to leave. Send another instead. Surely there is another capable of leading the army…"But he shushed her, not wishing to hear what his heart screamed at him uttered by his beloved._

"_No. My mind is made up. Thranduil has asked me personally and I have agreed to lead the forces to Dol Guldur for the assault."_

_Adlanniel's eyes hardened, her beautiful lips parting as if to speak, but no word escaped her mouth. The chocolate-brown eyes flickered away in shock and grief, but came back to rest in Taidîr's gaze when he tilted her chin up to look at her._

"_Do not weep for me, Adlanniel," Taidîr whispered gently. "Please, it breaks my heart." He guided her head to its rightful position above his heart, kissing her warm hair lovingly and let his eyes close wearily. "Cry no more, my beloved maiden. I promise, I shall see you again. But first…" his voice suddenly brightened with a quiet excitement. Adlanniel, feeling his heart race beneath her, sat up and looked at him in wonder._

"_What is it, Taidîr?" she asked, eyes wide with curiosity._

_Taidîr took her hands gently and gave them a small squeeze. "I was hoping to present this at a later time, when I had consulted someone who I trusted and loved well and when we were not preparing for war, but I feel I must do this now." He took a deep breath, and then looked into his beloved's curious gaze with admiration. "Adlanniel, will you agree to become by betrothed?"_

_Adlanniel's eyes lit up with wonder and love. She broke out into a teary smile, but nodded her head excitedly. "Yes, I will!" They shared a nervous, excited laugh and kissed. When they parted, Adlanniel seemed to be glowing with pride and joy as she gazed with admiration upon her husband-to-be. Taidîr drew her close and kissed her forehead._

"_Adlanniel, I shall see you again, I promise," he murmured. "Whether in this world or the next, I shall see you again. Our love can never be broken."_

XXX

Adlanniel smiled sadly as she remembered what had transpired that glorious but grievous evening. Her eyes flickered up to meet Taidîr's watching gaze.

"I came for you," she answered softly, eyes filling with tears and love. Taidîr's heart softened, and he felt himself fall in love with the maiden before him all over again. He would not kiss her here, though; it was improper. Instead, he stopped and squeezed her hand in response.

"This is why I love you, Adlanniel," he announced quietly. "Now we are unbeatable." She laughed softly, the sound sweet and soothing.

"Why do you say that?"

He smiled. "The forces of love cannot be defeated." Their eyes met, and she smiled back and moved closer to him, holding his hand tighter and resting her other hand just above his wrist with her free hand. The understanding and affection between them blossomed warmly, and the tense mood overhead seemed to lighten to a bearable state.

"My lord!"

Taidîr glanced up at the call and he and Adlanniel parted immediately, the lady moving a proper distance away from him. A scout hurried up to Taidîr, his face pale.

The captain frowned. "Speak."

"My lord," the sentry answered, a faint tremor hidden in his smooth voice. "We draw near."

Up to this moment Taidîr would have thought that nothing could have ruined the time he was sharing with Adlanniel. The sentry had proven him wrong. Fully understanding what the message meant, he nodded briefly and dismissed the soldier, and with one glance at his beloved strode forward with a high head.

For several minutes Taidîr advanced through the thick, blackened trees, noting how his soldiers seemed overly tense. _The evil here is affecting them._ He reached several sentinels stationed just before the tree-line ended and a clearing began. They saluted him hastily and turned their watchful gaze back to the clearing as their commander crouched among them, and Taidîr beheld Dol Guldur.

The twisted black gates at the far end of the clearing seemed to only serve as decoration, nothing more than another device to strike fear into its enemies. On either sides of the gate and extending the in opposite direction as far as he could see were stakes driven into the ground. The sharpened iron and wood spikes pointed outward from Dol Guldur, preventing large-scale cavalry or mass-soldier attacks. Where the trees thinned out a barrier of boulders had been erected as to further hinder any attacking forces. He shuddered when he saw the sight that lay beyond those gates.

"A party of Orcs entered not an hour ago, accompanied by an Elven-horse and a set of light-footed tracks," a sentinel informed Taidîr quietly.

The captain's brow furrowed. "The tracks belong to Thranduil." It was a statement, not a question.

The sentinel grimaced and averted his eyes. "Aye, we knew that, my lord," he began, anxiety and concern causing him to hesitate. He glanced up at his commander. "The tracks are staggered slightly, and there is more than one bloodstain on the forest floor around the footprints of our liege."

Taidîr swore under his breath. He and the wizard had strict orders not to make an attempt to save Thranduil if he treaded the doorstep to death and they had all prayed vigorously that they would not have to honor his order. With their king already wounded – they hoped not too severely – their fragile hopes seem to dim and fade already.

Gandalf strode up behind the commander. "Dol Guldur," he sighed wearily. "I had wished that I would not be forced to look upon such a terrible place, but alas, here I stand."

Taidîr nodded slightly in agreement. He had not time to respond as an anguished wail drifted down off the winds from the tower, making Taidîr flinch and turn wide-eyed to Gandalf. "What was that?"

The wizard's face was grim, his eyes glittering with sudden moisture. "Thranduil has experienced the first of many agonizing wounds, wounds that destroy not only his body but heart and mind." He turned his grave stare to Taidîr. "His torture has begun."

**TBC**

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	39. XXXVIII: Thranduil

**Mask of Innocence**

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_This next installment has a **major warning for violence.**Expect a lot of blood here - the warning is for torture. Please read with caution, and you might find that you need tissues as well. Have a nice day. ;)_

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**Chapter Thirty-eight: Thranduil **

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"**Stone walls and steel blades are not the true measure of the strength of a realm. **

**Their will and their character are what define them in times of peril. **

**Men look to their leaders to reflect their better natures, their hopes and dreams. **

**But ambition and greed can cause the mighty to fall, and in their descent, all people share their peril."**

_-'The Lord of the Rings: The Third Age_

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When Thranduil came to he found himself being dragged down the dark hallway. He had a splitting headache, and every wound seemed to be on fire as he was held up by his elbows as the Orcs hauled him down the corridor, his knees sliding across the floor. It was all he could do to crack his eyelids open and gaze at the ground that passed beneath him; cold, rock-hard obsidian that had been polished until it gleamed. But then there was the grinding of stone upon stone, and red light streamed in and nearly blinded the half-conscious king, followed by the shrieks and cheers of Orcs. It took nearly all of Thranduil's strength to raise his head and squint into the torchlight that brightened the area around the fortress, and it almost cost him his life when he ceased to breathe at the sight of hundreds of Orcs before him and an altar-like mound at the far end of the pathway where Sauron stood, eyes afire.

Thranduil had very little memory of being yanked down the narrow pathway with Orcs clustered on either side of him all the way. At first they had recoiled from him, worried that he might work some sort of fantastical curse, but when they found that he could barely walk, let alone fight, they grew bolder. He vaguely remembered being struck several times and had lain on the ground until he had been hauled to his feet once more to continue on. The taunts, jeers, strikes – it all blended into one hazy, chaotic agony that abruptly ended when he was thrown to the ground at Sauron's feet. As he lay there, struggling feebly to rise, he realized that Sauron had called for silence, and the Orcs had obeyed with a surprising submission.

"My minions, do you know why we are gathered here this eve?" Sauron cried, his dark voice dripping with poison and echoing eerily. The Orcs cackled and cheered quietly, their red and yellow eyes piercing the king that had barely managed to rise to his knees by now. Thranduil's dim emerald eyes flickered about with slight apprehension and fear as he was pulled to his feet. At that point he found himself able to stand quite well as the dizziness and fog that had surrounded him had worn off by now that came as a result from the concussion he had received not long ago. But he looked to the forest borders immediately, and was vaguely able to make out the forms of his men that to any other eye would be invisible. _They are here._

"We are here because of this Elf – this _King Thranduil_ – for he came here to challenge me!" The Orcs laughed, and Thranduil heard the dark smile in the Dark Lord's words. "But he failed. He has failed! His precious son, the Crown Prince of Mirkwood, now lies dying in the tower of one of my sweet concoctions. Thranduil has condemned him to death now by coming here, and all his people shall suffer and fall." By now Thranduil's eyes were glued upon his captor, watching to see if Sauron betrayed any knowledge of knowing that the Elves were here. And to his horror, when Sauron spoke of his people dying, the Dark Lord's eyes flickered ever so slightly to the forest edges where Thranduil knew the warriors waited. _No…_

"He demanded a fight, and fight we did. I never knew he was such a warrior. He hardly ever struck me! But alas, our pitiful duel was interrupted. I intended to finish it, were it not for some news that reached me-" his voice dropped to a seductive whisper as a cold hand came to caress the perfect flesh on Thranduil's cheek. The king flinched from the unwanted touch, closing his eyes and feeling a shudder slip through him. "-and I made _other_ plans. So now, my minions, we come to the true purpose of our gathering here in this hour of darkness; to witness the slaying of Thranduil King!"

The Orcs burst into yells and cheers of deafening heights. And Thranduil suddenly felt very alone as he stood there trembling, despite his attempts to hold himself tall and strong, as he looked down upon the sea of _yrch_ and red torches that flickered below him. He saw the crazed, manic looks in their flashing eyes, and their screams sent shivers down his spine. The desire to see his blood rent across the dark sky and rocky earth blinded them, and Thranduil was afraid.

Without warning they seized him and forced him to his knees, bowing the proud body with a blow that stunned him long enough to lock his wrists in the cold iron manacles in the rough pieces of wood set on either side of him. He was vaguely aware of the sudden cool air that swept across his bare shoulders and chest as they stripped him of all but his leggings. He knew nothing of the Black Speech, but he was sure that the garbled words the Orcs shrieked meant that they wanted his body, his blood, his death. They wanted so terribly to see crimson blood spill from a gaping wound, the muscular chest rent open so they could gut him, the fair face contort with agony, the perfect rose-colored lips wrenched open with screams, the nimble, swift body crumple and snap beneath their blows. And he knew that this was how he was going to die.

Thranduil suddenly found himself sucking in sharp breaths, his heart pounding, as the visions his mind had procured the night before – only hours earlier, it felt like an eternity ago – threatened to become a reality. The visions alone had almost driven him to the brink of insanity, a point at which he nearly took his life to simply be spared the agony of it, but he had stayed for his son. But now that his child was doomed to certain death, a death that could occur in a few seconds or in a few days, he had nothing. His people were doomed. Sauron knew of their attack now, and had perhaps already informed his commanders. The lucky ones would die. Those ill-fated would be enslaved, or worse.

Despair crashed down upon him brutally. But he could do nothing to save anyone or anything, and he cursed the Valar for whoever had damned them in such a way. It did not seem fair at all, to hurt someone so terribly who had done nothing to deserve it in the first place. There would be nothing but more pain until his death. The whip now dangled in his vision, an omen that signaled of the beginning of his slaying. Closing his eyes, he tried so desperately to calm himself, and found himself suddenly singing, his tenor voice barely loud enough to be heard above the shrieks and war-cries.

"_A Elbereth Gilthoniel, o menel palan-diriel…_"

_O Elbereth Star-kindler, from heaven gazing afar…_

The iron clamps were brutally tightened to ensure that he could not escape, and he winced as the pressure increased sharply and the jeers and taunts began to quiet into a heavy, tense silence as they waited for the first blow. He threw himself franticly into his memories, striving to cling to one that he could hold dear and keep himself from the pain he knew was inevitable. The first joyous memory he had he latched on to, remembering his sweet brothers and sister, the family he had lost so long ago…

"_Le nallon sí di-nguruthos…_"

_To thee I cry now in the shadow of death…_

A cold hand seized a handful of gold hair and wrenched Thranduil's head back. "Praying to the gods that have forsaken you will not save you now, Thranduil," Sauron hissed. The king's eyes snapped open, the strand of memories feeding his calmness snapping into pieces, and terror gripped him as he heard the swish of the whip behind him.

It struck hard and merciless, snapping across his back with brutal precision that ripped open wounds further. He made no noise, only rocking on his knees slightly from the ferocity of the blow. The Orcs began to cheer quietly, their growls echoing across the clearing. Thranduil closed his eyes against the onset of stinging pain, whispering under his breath prayers and random words to keep him calm. The lash struck again and again, eliciting quick releases of breath and gasps as the hold over his self-control began to slip away. _I am weak, so very weak…_

Forty lashes he endured with no cry. The Orcs grew angry that their prisoner was not reacting, and the one whipping him struck all the harder. It was on the fiftieth strike that Thranduil raised his head and looked to the borders, his body trembling and ever so weary from the blows. His emerald eyes were dim and glazed, and heartbroken Thranduil let his barrier down, giving himself into the inevitable. A single silver tear slid down his fair cheek, mixing with sweat and blood before it struck the earth stained with his own blood. Then he bent his head, his broken and bleeding body held up by only the iron locked around his chafed wrists, and let the pain ravage his flesh and bones.

Taidîr and Gandalf, along with the rest of the army, could see Thranduil in plain view as he was beaten. Some could not bear the sight. Others could not look away. The man who was both their king and closest friend was up there, and they could do nothing. The soldiers could not help the grimaces that crossed their faces at each sound of the whip striking smooth flesh, leaving welts and wounds large enough that after twenty lashes he was bleeding freely. By now their liege's back was slick and coated in warm blood, and it was a wonder he had not passed out already. Their king's strength caused many to feel pride, but others to feel pity, for his suffering would only be prolonged. They saw his ashen-face as he looked over at them, the agony and defeat upon his face, and they knew he had given up.

"Something has gone wrong," Taidîr breathed, his voice barely audible. Next to him, Adlanniel bowed her head and closed her eyes against hot tears.

"We have failed, then," she whispered, her voice hollow. "We have lost both king and prince." Then she began to weep softly, and Taidîr took her into his arms, abandoning formalities and holding his bride-to-be tightly and comfortingly. By now Thranduil's quiet and desperate sobbing had reached the army's ears, and they knew that he was near his breaking point. They had switched tactics, and now used a barbed whip that caused triple the amount of pain. Adlanniel nearly collapsed in Taidîr's arms when she heard the first strike of this new whip; the metal sang through the air before it latched into Thranduil's back, eliciting a hiss of agony. But then the Orc whipping him pulled the whip brutally, and the _yrch _watched in glee as the whip dug out chunks of flesh as it was wrenched from the young king's back. It was then that the first heart-wrenching scream was released, and it was not the last. The pain-filled screams continued on for the greater part of half an hour, a time that felt like an eternity to both the warriors and the king himself. They all begged for the end, the end of the pain racking the hearts and bodies of everyone.

"_Daro, saes!" _Thranduil exclaimed desperately, his sobbing causing his voice to break and quiver. "End it now,_ please!"_

The whipping stopped abruptly, and Thranduil crumpled to the ground as the iron manacles around his wrists vanished. He lay there, drawing frantic gasps of air into his lungs and curling automatically into a protective position, his fingers digging into the wet ground for something to grip tightly in an attempt to alleviate the severe pain.

"Shall we end it now, as he wishes, my minions?" Sauron shouted to the _yrch._ They screamed in delight, their crusty hands outstretched toward the broken king. The Dark Lord smiled maliciously. "Very well. He is yours to torment."

His minions surged forward with shrieks and shouts, closing around Thranduil like hungry ants. He gave a terrified wail as they converged upon him, the night sky disappearing behind their gruesome bodies. They began to beat and punch him, their dull clubs crashing into his body. And the king began to sob pitifully, begging them to leave him be. He cared not for his pride. One reached down in an attempt to strangle him, but when he was yanked aside by a fellow Orc clamoring to strike Thranduil the silver necklace around the king's neck got caught in his blackened fingernails and was wrenched away. Despite the blows that rained in upon him, Thranduil watched as the precious charm landed in the red-stained dirt nearby. He threw out an arm and franticly closed his bloodied fingers around it, the metal cold against his feverish flesh. It was his only tie to the real world now, the only anchor that held him rooted in Arda.

His eyes never left his clenched hand save for when a club smashed down upon his arm. His eyes squeezed shut as a cry burst past his lips, but when he opened his tear-filled emerald eyes again he did not feel the shrieking pain but looked in shock at the mangled wrist before him and the broken fingers beyond that clutched the charm for dear life. And then from the harsh blows and sharp teeth that ravaged him he distinguished the sound of a sickening crunch of bone in his leg. Spasms of pain shot through his right leg and hip, and a scream was torn from his lips. The club continued to batter him harshly, and his screams grew in high-pitched fervor and desperation as his various body parts were assailed. His chest was not avoided, and iron clamps seemed to close about his lungs as his ribs were cracked over and over again. He tried so desperately to curl into a ball to protect his body, but they would always wrench him open so they could beat, scratch and bite at the tender flesh upon his body.

The beating continued for what seemed like an eternity. Legolas' father was drowning in a sea of pain and blows, and he could hardly breathe. He screamed franticly for release, abandoning all thoughts of pride for his well-being. Thranduil's cries went unheeded. Their clubs, nails, and teeth battered him ruthlessly, sparing nothing despite his begging and pleading. Every now and then a glimpse of the dark sky flashed overhead as the Orcs swarmed over him, and Thranduil eventually lay calm and still, allowing the _yrch_ to beat him senseless. He had lost feeling in many parts of his body by now, and the parts that hadn't gone numb agonizing pain had dominion over. It was useless to fight.

And then, ever so suddenly, the swish of a club came near. Out of the corner of his eye Thranduil vaguely saw the club swing down at him, but then it all faded into blackness. It was the same club that had broken his leg and wrist that cracked against his skull and drove consciousness from his body. With welcome relief and joy Thranduil surrendered himself to the darkness, and did not fight. The hand clutching the necklace fell limp, the charm glimmering sadly out from the loose grasp of his fingers.

The Elves in the forest looked up in surprise and fear when the screams died away onto the wind. Their hearts stopped beating, and each drew a sharp breath as tears glistened in their eyes.

"_TÔL ACHARN!" _An Elf screamed suddenly, leaping from cover and charging forward, his blade shining in the red torchlight. He had screamed that vengeance was coming, but he was the only one that was running.

"_Law! Daro si!"_ Taidîr bellowed, throwing his arm out in an attempt to halt any further movement. _Do not destroy our cover now…_

But it was too late. The Elf had been spotted, and the Orcs froze for the briefest of moments before seizing their weapons and charged forward with battle screams. The cry went up; Elves were attacking.

Taidîr swore severely, but drew his sword. "We must attack! On my mark!" he shouted down the line. The Elves leapt to the trees, their bows ready and arrows nocked. _It was a hasty choice,_ Taidîr thought to himself, _but one that had to be done. We may even be able to save Thranduil, if he is not already dead. _Their keen eyes were set upon the Orcs that charged forward, purposefully not looking at the arrow-ridden corpse of the Elf that had betrayed their position.

"_Tangado a chadad!"_

The Elves obeyed, drawing the bowstrings to their full extent. Their range was not far, since they usually found combat beneath the trees, but they would still take enemies down at two-hundred and sixty yards away.

"_Leithio i philinn!"_

The whistling of arrows and shrieks of Orcs marked the beginning of the end.

XXX

For three hours the battle waged on. Sauron had seized Thranduil and retreated to the highest point of the hill to survey the fight, and not a single Elf dared touch him for fear of his wrath or losing their king. It was a bloody and terrible battle. Gandalf had disappeared when the siege began, and had not been spotted since. Taidîr and Adlanniel had been separated, but their bond helped the two understand when one was hurt or in pain, and could only pray that the precious connection would not be severed by death.

Things went ill for the Elves of the Woodland Realm. They were outnumbered, and did not have the advantage of being situated on top of a hill. They did, however, keep a fair amount of archers in the trees that would cover them when a retreat was needed, or a line had to be broken. But they were driven back many a time. For every Orc slain two would take its place, and the Elves' morale was dangerously low as they realized that their king and prince were most likely dead and they themselves were doomed.

Midnight brought no hope for Taidîr's men, but dawn did.

The forest suddenly echoed with the sounds of horns, and without warning three-hundred fair-faced warriors, clad in gray and green, leapt into the fray. Among them was a tall lord, his hair silver and shining in the morning breeze – morning that brought no sunlight in Dol Guldur – his face grim and noble. With a great cry he rallied his forces and those of Taidîr's, and with a grinning wizard behind him charged forward, bright sword swinging.

And so it was that Lord Celeborn and the forces of Lórien came to Dol Guldur, and the tide of battle was turned.

**To be continued...

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	40. XXXIX: Bittersweet

**Mask of Innocence**

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_School's out this Wednesday...thank Iluvatar! Summer's almost here, and I hope to get up another chapter as soon as possible after attending the 2nd annual LOTR marathon this Friday - 12 hours of non-stop movies and food...But, alas, the chapter is not even close to being finished! But I'll soon have time to write. Thanks everyone for sticking around on this long journey, and I hope you'll stick around long enough for the end!_

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**Chapter Thirty-nine: Bittersweet**

Sauron was not pleased.

With a bellow he threw open the doors to his throne room and dropped Thranduil to the ground, caring no more for the Elvish king. The Elf, in turn, crawled weakly to the corner, huddling against the wall and pulling his dying child into his arms. The severely wounded king's sobs and gasps of pain echoed across the room, the softest of noises that served nothing more than to anger the Dark Lord further.

"Silence, you great fool!" Sauron screeched, red eyes fiery and menacing. "You shall die soon; you and your brat! For _Celeborn_ has come to Dol Guldur!" He spat the name as if it carried some bitter, vile taste. "If he does not leave I shall destroy you both, if the poison hasn't killed the boy first."

He flung the gleaming ruby at Thranduil's body, and the king watched on in horror as the flame grew smaller and smaller within, dim and fading. He wearily clutched his child all the closer, kissing the cold skin with cracked, parched lips. Whispering softly to him, the young father laid his head back and closed his eyes, letting tears and pain overcome him as his body was wracked with sobs and terrible agony. He wanted it all to end so desperately. Any movement whatsoever nearly made him scream in pain. He knew without a doubt that his leg, wrist, and ribs were broken; his leg was lying there in front of him at an odd angle and his wrist was mangled and bleeding. He could barely breathe. And the arrow inside of him was burning his flesh terribly, making it even harder to suck in precious amounts of air. It wouldn't have been a surprise to him to know that other bones were broken and joints dislocated.

But for some strange reason, Thranduil did not care.

All he could see was the little child asleep in his arms. Legolas was too weak to tremble, but his flesh was as cold as ice. He did not open his eyes or stir when his father had cradled him in his arms. He was so still and quiet, like he had already died. But Thranduil knew it was not so; that precious connection was faint between them, but still there. _He is fading…I feel it within me…his heart, it is failing. He shall die very soon._

"Legolas…_ion-nín…_" Thranduil's voice rasped; his vocal chords were inflamed and rough from screaming so long. He swallowed painfully, trying to hold back the salty tears that would burn the raw, tender wounds on his face. But his precious boy would not respond.

"Spend what time you can with him; death comes to seek him even now." There was the hint of amusement and delight in Sauron's deep voice. It burned Thranduil terribly, and the grieving father shut his eyes and lay his head down over his child's heart, listening to the faint beating. _Please, my child, do not leave me…You shall leave me here to suffer and die alone. I do not want to watch you die…it will destroy me._

Then, without warning, there was the sound of footsteps. Thranduil squeezed his son tightly. _They have come…Come to take me to my death…_

A fair voice cried out, and over the sound of the crunching of metal as the gates were blasted open Sauron's screech of agony and rage could be heard.

"Release them, Sauron!" A noble voice rang sharp with warning as a tall, silver-haired Elf and gray-haired wizard appeared from the swirling clouds of dust.

_Celeborn…you have come…_

Celeborn stepped forward, his fair body strong and great. In his hand he gripped a gleaming, bright sword, raised and pointed at Sauron as he demanded once again, "Release Thranduil and Legolas!"

Sauron let a laugh out. "Why should I?" He screamed at them, a crazed light dancing in his eyes. "No, no! My gracious lord Celeborn, you are in no place to give orders, for you see, I am the one with greater power!" With a snarl and curse a red light shot out of Sauron's palm and struck Gandalf squarely in the chest, knocking him to the floor with a cry. He did not rise. Celeborn flinched only slightly, his body tall and straight like a tree from the Golden Wood itself. He would not bow to this evil, not today.

The Dark Lord's eyes flickered mischievously. "Oh yes, dear Celeborn, you shall bow to me today."

Celeborn's eyes narrowed with anger and slight shock when he realized that Sauron had perceived his thoughts. "You forget yourself Sauron, for it is I with the greater strength." His gaze flickered over the bleeding and broken body of Thranduil and the still form of the prince. Pain flashed across his features at the sight, and with steely eyes glared at Sauron. "Release Thranduil and his child, Sauron," he commanded once more. "You have hurt them enough already. By refusing you shall seal your doom with all of Middle-earth, for the kingdoms shall rise to avenge the innocent lives you tore from their immortal bodies."

Sauron smiled naughtily, hiding the fear behind his eyes. "Make me," he hissed.

Celeborn leapt forward with a snarl, a sound like thunder rumbling through the room, the lord suddenly towering tall over Sauron and eyes afire. "Do not play this game, you corrupt great beast!" he cried in rage.

"Ah, but Celeborn, it is I who have set the rules for this game," Sauron calmly interrupted, voice sweet as vinegar. He reached down and scooped up the gleaming ruby and displayed it to the Lord of Lothlorien proudly. "Legolas was my pawn, to use and discard at will. I used him for many months, my little mask of innocence that I hid behind for so long, so no one would know that it was he that was destroying the kingdom and lord. But his usefulness was long past. And now the immortal flame of the little one is diminished; he shall join his mother soon."

Celeborn's gaze landed on Thranduil when a sob slipped past the king's chafed lips, and he watched in silent agony as the Elven-king clutched his dying child all the closer.

There was a flash of movement before Sauron's eyes and the ruby suddenly was flung from his hand, but he caught Celeborn's nimble wrist and sword easily. The Elf Lord froze as his own blade was forced back against his pale throat, his cold gray eyes watching warily as the silver blade hovered over his white flesh. Internally he kicked himself for being so rash, but he knew that anger had controlled him and his decision to destroy the stone. "That was not a wise choice," Sauron murmured darkly. Taking swift, shallow breaths, Celeborn stared at the Dark Lord in suppressed shock and slight fear. "And now it is your turn to die."

But before he could slice the lord's throat Thranduil leapt into action. Out of the corner of his eye Celeborn had seen Thranduil crawl forward weakly, attempting to get on his knees. Celeborn realized his intent and his eyes widened in alarm, and would have bodily stopped Thranduil if it had not been for the blade resting precariously at his throat. "Thranduil_, no!"_

But the king did not heed his words, and the Lord of Lórien shut his eyes in horror as he saw the son of Oropher reach to his side and wrap bloodied fingers around an arrow shaft.

There was a pained scream, the patter of blood on the cold floor, and a rustle of movement before the sound of shattering crystal reached their ears. Sauron spun around, still gripping Celeborn tightly, and his eyes widened in fury and horror at the sight of Thranduil kneeling amongst shattered fragments of the ruby, clutching a bloody arrow in his hand and franticly pressing pale fingers to the gaping wound in his side. The bloody arrow was poised above the spot where the gem had landed.

Rage blinded the Dark Lord when he realized that Thranduil had destroyed his power over Legolas, and without a second thought slammed Celeborn to the ground and leapt for Thranduil with a shriek. The Lord of Lórien stiffly rolled to his feet in time to see his fellow Elven-lord scramble to his feet, and knew long before Sauron drew near what would occur. He found himself suddenly unable to move and instead knelt there, gasping and with fear contorting his face, as the young king tried ever so desperately to evade the gleaming blade that swung at him with deadly intent.

It was then that Celeborn took in the true extent of Thranduil's wounds and agony, and was repulsed by the injuries done to him. His chest was black and blue with scratches and open wounds oozing still, and his side was caked with blood, a mixture between days old and new blood flow streaming from an obvious arrow wound. Earlier he was able to see the lacerated back hunched with pain as they had approached Dol Guldur, and the rips and gashes from the whips were visible even on his sides and upper arms. A deep slice in his shoulder was several hours old but still appeared painful and throbbing, the flesh about it swollen and flushed. The king lurched as one of his legs that nearly buckled beneath him, and a small cry slipped past his lips and he hugged his left wrist to his bleeding chest. Celeborn's heart clenched when he saw the mangled and broken state of both limbs.

But Thranduil was not fast enough to evade Sauron, and the Dark Lord drew dangerously close when he faltered. Hours of pain and countless wounds had taken a dear toll on the fair king, and he was not able to twist out of the path of the sharp metal as it swung down at him.

The young father's eyes widened in silent shock as the sickening sound of flesh ripping reached his ears. Sauron froze, towering above him with wide, manic eyes, his transparent fingers strangling Celeborn's blood-stained sword as he held his position, waiting for Thranduil's reaction.

Celeborn watched in despair as Thranduil stumbled backwards, the silence ever so frightening as Sauron watched his captive with greedy eyes.

Fingers once perfect and white flew to the wound, futilely trying to stop the incessant bleeding that spoiled the beautiful flesh. Legolas' father raised his hands to gaze at the blood dripping from his fingers with something akin to fascination and curiosity, but a sharp, screaming pain followed the line of the terrible wound in Thranduil's abdomen and made him catch his breath with a gasp. The king's face contorted in agony. His knees buckled beneath him, and the Elf crumpled to the ground soundlessly. The beautiful emerald eyes drifted closed as he lay there on the floor, his breath shallow and frantic as blood poured over his fumbling hands.

Thranduil did not rise again.

Celeborn did not remember much of the events that took place after Thranduil's fall, save that he and Gandalf rose as one and assailed Sauron. The Dark Lord was nothing compared to the two of them combined, and it was only due to Thranduil's distraction that they managed to catch him off guard. It was then that the forces of Light met the forces of Darkness, and the spells that burst past the wizard and Elf's lips born of fierce love and determined revenge managed to triumph over evil. It was then that Sauron fled Dol Guldur, his shrieks of agony and rage echoing far over the land as his spirit flitted away to find haven in some dark place. The Elves still fighting rejoiced and were glad, and drove the terrified Orcs back and slaughtered them all. They celebrated greatly, believing to have won a wonderful victory.

But this victory was terribly bittersweet for those remaining in the tower.

Rushing without hesitation to Thranduil's side, Celeborn and Gandalf felt their hearts contort painfully at the sight of the strong king lying there. He was curled in on himself, hands pressed to the gaping wound in his abdomen. His face was flushed, and he had lost far too much blood. Celeborn shoved the king's weak hands away and pressed hard to the long and deep slash anxiously, calling upon his healing powers to give him strength to share with the dying king. He swallowed against the bile that rose in his throat as something slick met his fingers and he realized that he was holding back Thranduil's internal organs. The emerald eyes flashed open as the king gasped against the swift onslaught of pain that came from the sudden pressure applied, revealing glazed, feverish orbs that locked on Celeborn instantly.

"Celeborn…" Thranduil whispered hoarsely, and shuddered as a wave of pain overtook him. "You came…but my eyes grow dark…"

The wizard beside him leaned forward and seized the king's hand as he began to slip away. "Come back, Thranduil. Stay with us. Thranduil……_Thranduil!_"

The king sucked in a breath and suddenly stilled. "Valar, no," Gandalf breathed, and he struggled to find a pulse. It was barely there, slowing as his body began to shut down. Celeborn carefully placed a bloody hand on the king's forehead and closed his eyes, chanting softly.

"_Lasto beth nín, tolo dan na ngalad!_"

Thranduil moaned beneath his hand, but his eyes opened. "_Saes, _Celeborn…let me…go…it hurts so terribly…"

Celeborn's eyes grew soft. "I am afraid I cannot do that, _mellon-nín,"_ he answered gently. Thranduil squeezed his eyes shut against tears that slipped down his cheek, whimpering quietly as a fresh wave of pain took hold. Celeborn tipped his head to the side as he took in the sight, blinking as his vision began to cloud from tears of his own. "Come now, Thranduil," he tried to smile, but he failed utterly. His quiet voice broke. "What has happened to the stubborn king I once knew?"

He got no response as Thranduil continued to writhe faintly before him, whimpers and soft sobs echoing in the silence. Gandalf, who had vanished from his side, returned with a silent Taidîr. "Taidîr's betrothed, an apprentice healer, is tending to Legolas," he murmured in Celeborn's ear.

Celeborn met the wizard's gaze apprehensively. "How fares he?"

Gandalf shrugged gravely. "He is no longer fading, but he has not improved either." Celeborn nodded, as he was glad to hear that the child was no longer in mortal danger. But then he turned to Thranduil, and felt the slight hope he had vanish. The child's father was dying, and they were losing him fast.

Legolas' father turned his vague attention back to the Elven lord above him. "My child…" he panted wearily. "Is he…?"

"Do not fear; he yet lives."

Thranduil laid back his head and closed his eyes, the sheen of sweat on his skin glistening in the pale light. "If I do not wake… please…tell him…" The words failed him, and he opened his eyes to reveal soft, shining emerald eyes.

"I shall," Celeborn returned faithfully, speaking low.

The dying king before him nodded as if in approval, and panted quietly for breath amidst soft whimpers that slipped past his lips. The pain came no easier for him; if anything, it grew harder to bear by the second. Weakly, he brought up broken and mangled fingers to his lips and kissed a gleaming object in his loose grasp before letting his arm drop to his side with a wince. Then his eyes drifted closed, and he escaped from the terrible pain that wracked his body.

XXXXXXXXXXXX

In the next hour that followed Celeborn and Gandalf worked hard at mending the worst of Thranduil's wounds. The wound that would perhaps prove fatal to the young king was stitched tightly and bandaged heavily to prevent further bleeding. He was loaded onto a stretcher carefully, eliciting a soft moan from the unconscious king as many of his wounds were pressed upon and brushed against accidentally. His child was borne by Celeborn who held him tightly in his arms, as if the tiniest release of pressure would cause the child's life to slip away. He had not regained consciousness, but had already improved some since the initial destroying of the stone that had contained his life within its icy depths.

A small party of Elves bore the two out of the throne room and through the silent, cold corridors. The procession was met at first by cheering Elves when they exited the tower, but the cheers quickly faded away at the sight of their king and prince. By now the sun had broken through the dark clouds that had hung over Dol Guldur for years, but the warm sunlight seemed to pale in the light of the current events. A dense, heavy silence fell over the warriors as the party shuffled through them, and their eyes were glued upon Thranduil and his child. Celeborn mounted a noble steed and he, Gandalf, and Taidîr led the litter along, down the winding pathway on the Hill of Sorcery. Smoke drifted across the hill, remnants from the great siege that had taken place. Bodies of Orcs and of many Elves lay strewn about in clumps and in solitude, but there were no cries or moans of the wounded and dying. All had been cared for already, but many had died before the healers could reach them. The Orcs had found most of them first.

But all thoughts of those lost or wounded vanished because of the sight before the warriors now. Here was their king, surprisingly still alive but barely, lying broken and unconscious, blood leaking through the pure white bandages. And there was their precious, beautiful little prince, so still and quiet in Celeborn's arms. His pale-gold hair hung limp and smooth in the faint morning light, swaying gently in the softest of breezes. But then the quietest of gasps swept through the ranks, for Celeborn had halted his horse. The little child had stirred, and a small cough slipped past his pale lips. The Elven lord that held him dismounted hastily, and knelt to support the prince better in his arms.

"Legolas?"

Dark lashes fluttered open to reveal pale-blue crystallized eyes. Legolas shifted uncomfortably, gazing up at Celeborn in wonder and fright. "_Iston le? _Where's _Ada_? What happened to _Ada?_" he whispered uneasily, eyes pleading. The prince's voice was hushed and smooth.

The Lord of Lórien's silver gaze glanced in the direction of the litter before opening his mouth to speak, but Legolas was one step ahead of him. The boy vanished from Celeborn's grasp and darted to his father's side, seizing a cold, bandaged hand anxiously. "_Ada!"_ The little one's eyes widened and tears welled up in those precious orbs. He began to cry, laying his head down upon his father's chest and clutching at him anxiously. "_Ada_, wake up!"

"Hush, Legolas," Celeborn murmured in his ear, curling his hands around the small body to begin to gently tug him away.

"_Law! _Leave me alone! It's _Ada_; he's hurt! Somebody, please, help him!" Legolas sobbed, holding onto his father all the tighter. Thranduil lay still and silent, still unconscious.

"_Sedh,_" came the quiet command, but Legolas did not quiet as ordered and kept on crying and sniffling. Celeborn's heart softened as he watched the little one clutch at his father so lovingly and protectively, and tried to soften his tone. It had been so many years since he had dealt with an Elfling. "Come, Legolas, your _adar_ needs his rest, child; as do you."

Still sniffling, Legolas stood and wiped his cheeks with the corner of his sleeve and turned slowly to Celeborn, arms outstretched. "I'm scared," he whimpered, voice hushed. "Sauron was going to hurt me and _Ada_…"

Reaching down and swiftly scooping the son of Thranduil into his arms, Celeborn stroked his back comfortingly as the boy nestled into his shoulder. "You're safe now, _tithen-pen_. Sauron is gone now."

"Really?" came the muffled voice.

Celeborn closed his eyes and smiled faintly. "Yes, he is gone. And he will never hurt you or your _ada_ again." But he had spoken without thought, and tried to ignore the fleeting consideration that suggested Sauron's return.

"Good. I am glad." Legolas snuggled close and sighed, and drifted into a weary, sad sleep.

Celeborn managed to mount his horse once more, and they continued on, passing through the gates of Dol Guldur and into the forest once more. But his heart was heavy, for although they had accomplished their task and succeeded in saving Thranduil and Legolas in time, they had not completely defeated Sauron. He turned around. As his eyes fell upon the pale, bleeding figure lying unconscious on the stretcher behind him he felt his heart plunge even more. Thranduil was facing nearly certain death, and Celeborn could not help but wonder if he would return for even his child after the horrors and pain he had faced.

**To be continued...

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	41. XXXX: A Matter of Love

**Mask of Innocence**

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_Wow...I churned this puppy out in record time! I maybe had a 1/6 of this chapter written - if that - when I posted last, but look what three hours yesterday afternoon has done! I felt bad for not posting as often as I should have, so here's the next installment. Happy early birthday to **LazloTitan36;** my sister who has been faithfully reviewing and reading from the beginning will be not be celebrating her eleventy-first birthday on Friday, but she will be celebrating a birthday nonetheless! ;)_

_Thanks to all my great reviewers; I've said it before so I'llsay it again -taking time out of your life to read and review has left its mark!Thanksto **Enigma Jade, mistopurr, Dreamer11563, wigitdog, LazloTitan36, luthien thranduiliel, jinkastorm, StarDancer1234, & Elvenhope** for the reviews of the last two chapters!_

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**Chapter Forty: A Matter of Love**

The sunlight shone pale through the trees as the incandescent figures slipped between them. The people of Thranduil – soon, perhaps, to be the people of Legolas – were dreadfully quiet. Though they kept their bright eyes averted from the stretcher that bore their quiet king, his fate still loomed over their mind. They were ever so proud of what he had done, but ever so sad at the price he had paid.

But suddenly a flash of gold caught their eyes, and their hearts lifted at the sight. The Elven-child darted here and there, hugging those he knew and introducing himself to those he did not. He had gained much energy in the past four hours since Dol Guldur. For two hours he had slept in a healing trance as his body recovered from the past year of pain, but had woken as soon as the tantalizing fragrance of lush berries and honey reached his nose. They had fed him, and he had eaten eagerly and ravenously. Before long the healthy glow returned to the porcelain cheeks and the brilliant sparkle to the blue eyes, and he insisted on acquainting himself with all those who had fought.

But now, as he slipped back to his father's side, he seemed expectant, hopeful to see those glimmering emerald eyes gaze up at him and to see a warm smile on the pale face. But he was let down. His father had not stirred, and remained impassive and oblivious to the outside world. But Legolas remained optimistic, and clasped the cold hand with firm resolve and held his head high, trying his best to be his father's son. He lengthened his strides to hold better pace with the warriors carrying the stretcher-like bed, and he tried to straighten his facial features to be smooth and noble. The Elves smiled slightly at the little one's attempts to commandeer his father's traits and actions. It was his duty, he had told them, to remain by his _adar's_ side no matter what happened.

_But would you stay by his side in death?_

The question lingered in their hearts always. They dreaded to think of what would occur if the father did indeed die, and they had already seen a fraction of the pain the child had experienced in the hours before his attempted suicide. History was reliving itself once more, but all they could do was pray that this time they would not lose Thranduil, and that Legolas would be strong enough if they did.

The sudden weak squeeze on Legolas' hand startled him. His attention flew to Thranduil as he turned fully to face him. _"Ada?"_ he breathed, watching the lord for any signs of stirring. And there, the flutter of dark lashes! The smooth eyelids cracked open, and weakly Thranduil squinted into the faint sunlight onto the form that belonged to his son. His parched, peeling lips parted to speak, but no sound was uttered. Legolas seized a water-skin beside the monarch and hastily dribbled water between the pale lips. Thranduil drank readily, coughing only once but hissing softly when he jarred his wounds by doing so.

"_Tithen-pen?"_ he croaked out faintly, squeezing his littlest one's hand again, this time with more strength.

"Yes, _Ada, _it is me."

A tired smile flitted across the monarch's face for an instant, but a grimace of pain crossed his face.

Legolas tried to be reassuring when he realized his father was in terrible pain. "_Hebo estel, Ada._ Have hope. You will feel better soon, I promise."

Thranduil lifted the small hand to his lips, kissed it, gave it one more precious squeeze and then closed his eyes. He slept once more.

For many more hours Thranduil lingered in a feverish state, never truly awake but never truly asleep. The people continued northward, homeward bound, at a steady but careful pace. They bore many wounded, not to mention their king. For a week Thranduil held on to life, and they drew within twenty leagues of the palace. He had not improved, but had not terribly worsened, either. Still, he remained in a pained state and seemed always to be asleep, so weary was he.

They set up camp one last night in a beautiful little place. There was a bubbling stream and a warm pool of water before them, and many of the people took turns swimming and bathing in the crystal water. The clearing was not big enough to hold them all, and many took to the tall, slender trees for rest. The green leaves fluttered joyously in the presence of the Elves, and soon the area was warm and bright with the fires lit. They were all excited to be so close to home, for they knew that they would return the next evening.

But not everyone in the camp was brimming with joy and ease.

As Gandalf, Taidîr and his fellow officers sat around the fire eating supper, Legolas came and joined them. He crawled tiredly into Gandalf's lap and let out a wide yawn as the wizard made room for the boy. Gandalf smiled teasingly down at him, eyes twinkling. "You cannot be tired already, little one! It is not even your bedtime!"

Legolas squealed as the captain began to tickle him, and many turned to watch the little prince giggling and smiling brightly. It was a sight they had not seen in a great while.

"It is good to see such a treat; the prince grinning so," an officer commented to his friend. By now Gandalf had ceased his spell of tickling, and Legolas had quieted, sitting comfortably with clear eyes as he watched the Elves around him before he let his gaze settle on the firm back of the Lord of Lórien as he was bent over Thranduil. The officer's eyes darkened. "It lifts my heart, for I sense something terrible here, as if this beautiful place holds a dark past."

"You are right, it is a dark place."

The Elves turned to look at Legolas in concealed surprise. "What do you mean, my lord?"

His expressionless eyes met each of their gazes calmly, but one was able to catch a flash of pain before it vanished behind his sleek mask. Legolas pointed to where a blond Elf was sitting. "Imrathon was beaten by the _yrch _where you are sitting."

The Elf he had pointed to paled slightly and moved away from the spot where Taidîr swore the dirt had taken on a reddish tint. When the Elf vacated the spot, the others gazed at the spot with something akin to fear and repulse. It was as if they could suddenly see the hunched figure of their former captain, blood pouring from his back and his mouth open in a scream of pain. His wild eyes bored into theirs, wrenching their hearts with the terrifying gaze. The Elves gasped and looked away, wishing to banish the horrible scene from their mind's eye.

Legolas' face remained impassive and calm, although he too had seen what the other's had. He continued quietly. "We hid in that tree," he said, pointing once more, "and our fire was right here, like the one here now. The Orcs arrived at midnight."

The Elves were silent, and the only sound heard was that of the crackle and hiss of the fire. A shadow seemed to have passed over their faces, but Legolas was not disturbed. He seemed relatively comfortable with the fact that his friend had been nearly beaten to death five yards away. He rose without warning, nodding to the officers in salute. "Please excuse me; I wish to see _Ada_."

Then he walked away, his footsteps silent across the soft earth. They watched him leave, and began to speak once more.

"He has taken this all with strength greater than ours combined," one murmured in awe of the child that walked innocently away. The others nodded in agreement.

"But much has he changed," his companion corrected sadly. "He used to be a bright, innocent little boy. But now he has changed; he has matured beyond his years, perhaps beyond _our_ years. Yes, he will laugh like an Elfling and play like a child, but he shall forever be haunted by his past."

They others murmured in sad accord. "You are right," they told him. "He has changed, but he is still Thranduil's little son. The king shall do as much as he can to reverse the past year's effects on his babe."

"If he awakens," an officer broke in bitterly. "When Thranduil dies-"

"Hush! The prince is still near!" one cried warningly.

"He knows his father's heart is failing," the officer scoffed. "Legolas knows that Thranduil will not survive."

"We shall see," spoke a rough voice. The Elves turned to Gandalf, who looked upon them sternly. "You underestimate Celeborn's powers and Legolas' love."

Some of the fair-folk were taken aback. "How could love save him alone? He dies of wounds, also; not only of his heart."

"I would beg to differ," Gandalf argued gently. "The king has been through more than you know. When his body failed, his heart gave in as well. Thranduil needs more than bandages to fix his wounds. He needs love and care. His son can give him that. He needs Legolas now, more than ever."

The debate continued in such a way for the greater part of an hour, but Legolas stopped listening after this. Celeborn was speaking with his father, and he trained his hearing upon their conversation now. He watched with wide eyes, several feet away, as he crouched part-way, frozen in reaching for a blanket and his stuffed teddy bear to take to his _adar._

Thranduil was partially concealed by Celeborn's shadow as the lord bent over him. The glow of the firelight played on Celeborn's back, catching his silver hair and tinting it yellow-orange. The bright gold of Legolas' father's hair seemed dull tonight as Legolas watched him. He could see almost the entire length of his father's body, from the strong legs hidden beneath warm blankets to his ashen face. He seemed too weak to the boy. This was not the _Ada_ he had known before the battle.

"Celeborn, you really think I will survive this, don't you," Thranduil whispered, his shaky voice becoming hoarse. Legolas drew his breath in sharply, his sapphire eyes flitting to land on the Elves that had not noticed him. The lord working on the monarch tied a fresh bandage around his waist tightly, eliciting a wince from the king.

Celeborn closed his eyes, and his ministrations stopped. "There is never a fault in trying," the Lord of Lórien murmured in reply. He returned to his duty of tending to the king's slow-to-heal wounds, swiftly removing the splint on the king's wrist. Thranduil tensed slightly as he applied pressure to the fragmented bone and nerves. The prodding hit a sensitive spot, and his knuckles turned white as he gripped the mattress.

Thranduil panted slightly for breath when Celeborn stopped. "Then you have more faith than I," he gasped.

Silence engulfed them. Legolas' vision blurred as tears welled up in his eyes. He heard as his father groan softly and felt more hot tears rush to compensate for the lonely tear that had just rolled down his cheek. He looked down, and watched forlornly as the silver tear landed on the teddy bear in his arms, creating a damp spot over the little bear's heart. The warriors and the others around him did not know it, but it broke his heart to see his great father in so much pain and weakness.

"Celeborn, what is it like to die?" Thranduil suddenly murmured. Legolas looked up, and his beautiful face was marred with anguish. His father's voice and face was soft with innocence as he raised cloudy emerald eyes to meet Celeborn's gaze. The expression on father and son's faces should have been the opposite, and Legolas knew it.

"I know not, my friend," Celeborn answered quietly. His voice nearly cracked and he struggled to keep his expression and voice void of emotion.

Thranduil closed his eyes and nodded once. His breathing was shallow and hoarse.

"But I do not wish for you to find out, Thranduil."

Thranduil opened his eyes and studied Celeborn for what seemed like an eternity, the light in his eyes fading quickly. At last, his eyelids fluttered shut. "I know, Celeborn," He whispered remorsefully, shifting uncomfortably and letting out a faint moan when the pain returned with more intensity. Legolas stifled tears. "I know."

"Then you would leave your son alone, then? You would leave an innocent boy who has not reached adulthood to rule in your place?" Celeborn could not help the bitterness and anger that slipped into his serene voice. "Would you be that selfish, Thranduil, and take away his chance at a loving childhood free of pain?"

Thranduil was silent. A second tear trickled down Legolas' face as he watched his father, begging for him to say something in defense, something that meant that he truly did love his son, and would not leave him for the world…

"_Goheno nín_," Thranduil apologized softly. "But I cannot avoid the inevitable, my friend."

Legolas would have seen Celeborn stiffen and search for words if he had not turned away abruptly and darted into the forest, stuffed bear still clutched in his hand.

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Some time later Legolas returned to camp. Several had noticed his disappearance, and those sent to find and guard over him returned not wanting to speak of what had happened.

Quietly moving about the warriors who were beginning to bed down, Legolas gathered his blankets, pillow, and the fluffy toy bear Adlanniel had made for him and pulled them over to his father's side. He let his pillow and bear flop to the ground easily, but struggled to pull the blankets up and over his _Ada_. Thranduil stirred as the extra warmth was added, and opened his eyes when something soft and lumpy was snuggled under his broken arm.

"What are you doing, _tithen-pen?_"

Legolas didn't meet his gaze, but kept working, chewing on his lip thoughtfully. "Trying to make you feel better," he merely said.

"Mmm."

His son nodded in acknowledgement as he finished tucking in the blanket around his hurting father.

"But who is your friend? I do not believe we've met." There was supposed to be mirth in that hoarse voice, but Thranduil had lost the strength for humor long ago.

"This is Rosta," Legolas picked up the stuffed toy and displayed the cuddly brown bear with two black buttons for eyes. "He was a gift, from Lady Adlanniel. She nursed me back to health. We should give her something when we get home, _Ada_, for all she's done…" But then he trailed off, realizing his mistake. He did not know how long his father was going to linger.

Thranduil ignored his son's discomfort and studied the bear with mild curiosity. "Why do you call him 'hollow' even though he is full of stuffing?" His emerald eyes met his son's sapphire orbs in question.

Legolas explained softly, almost hesitantly. "Because that's what he said he feels like – hollow. He told me that tonight, when I was crying. He says his _Ada_ died not too long ago, and he said it hurt really bad to lose him."

Thranduil's heart clenched. "Why were you crying, Legolas?" he asked gently, eyes softening.

His child met his eyes. "Because…because you said that you would die, even though you would be leaving me here alone."

The monarch's lips parted to speak, but the words failed him, and he averted his eyes. Legolas continued to watch his father, surprised that his father would break eye contact with _him,_ and not the other way around. But before long he too glanced away, and began to stroke Rosta comfortingly, more for himself than for the stuffed toy.

Silence was the only friend for both father and son for many minutes as one lay in silent grief and the other stood in unspoken love.

"Why would you leave me, _Ada?"_

The innocent, sweet voice startled Thranduil, but he shook his head. "I do not want to talk about it, little one," he informed him gently, while inside his heart began to break. _What have I done? I have scarred my son terribly. He has been through enough; dare I drive the spike through his heart even more?_

"Are you sleeping, _Ada?"_

His eyes had been closed. Now they fluttered open, and struggling to give a faint smile Thranduil shook his head. "Nay. Not yet."

"Good." He paused, and then began again while looking hard at his teddy bear. "Rosta needs a place to sleep tonight. Can you take care of him for me, _saes?"_

The king nodded. "Of course," he answered quietly. "But where will you be sleeping if Rosta cannot?"

"I'll be sleeping next to you," Legolas motioned towards the ground where his pillow and blanket lay rumpled up in the damp grass. "I do not want Rosta to get cold on the ground. Gandalf said you needed me most of all, so I wanted to be here for you."

The loyal king did not reply, but made a scene of making sure Rosta was 'comfortable' by tucking him in the blankets with him to hide his tears.

"Goodnight, _Ada."_

"Goodnight, little-one."

Legolas suddenly bent down over Thranduil, and his lips brushed against the forehead warm with fever. "I love you, _Ada_," he whispered, eyes just now betraying his love and grief.

But the words in response would not leave the monarch's lips. His throat seemed to have closed in as tears threatened to overwhelm him. He watched as his precious child waited for a reply, but receiving none he turned around and knelt beside the litter he lay on, and began readying his meager bed as the fires were doused nearby. Thranduil looked away at last, and closed his eyes wearily.

Suddenly remembering, Legolas jumped to his feet and gently shook Thranduil's shoulder, trying his best to avoid the worst of his wounds. _Maybe he will prove me wrong now. _"_Ada_, wait; do not go to sleep yet." The child fumbled in his pocket and pulled out a silver thing. Holding it up for his father to see, Legolas undid the clasp on his mother's pendant. "I forgot I had this. They found it in your hand. I thought it would help you, so I kept it safe. It made me feel better when I woke up, and so it shall help you." He fastened it around his _adar's_ neck tenderly, and smiled halfheartedly at him when he nodded in thanks.

"_Hantale,"_ his father whispered. But thanks was all he said before he slept once more, leaving Legolas heartbroken and alone.

Only after he was sure that Thranduil had truly fallen asleep – his eyes had closed, a fact that at first startled the young princeling – did Legolas crawl into bed. From where he was he could hear the shallow breathing of his father that was laced with pain from his broken ribs. He prayed that what he had done would ease the king's pain. _After all, Gandalf had said that Ada needed love and me more than anything else, did he not? At least I may have made him comfortable. He knows that I love him, even if he does not._

But then the poor child began to cry. He felt so alone without his father to snuggle with or his stuffed bear, or even Gandalf or Taidîr or another friend he had made on this adventure. And now that he was certain his father did not love him, the world seemed terribly desolate and dark. He had felt so strong with his father by his side, even if he was wounded, because he thrived off of the love that Thranduil had shown for him.

It hadn't taken him long to realize what had happened and why over the course of the past several weeks. His father had nearly sacrificed himself for him, and at first Legolas had been surprised and shocked that he had done such a thing. But then he knew, and he suddenly understood how much his _Ada_ truly loved him. He had been so happy, but now that was all gone. It did not make sense; why would his father, who loved him so much that he nearly was killed for it, suddenly give up his life knowing full well that his child would suffer more than what death could bring?

Legolas hadn't the heart or will to think it all out. He simply began to cry as the reality of it struck him, and so enveloped in a cocoon to shield himself from the terrible world around him was he that he did not notice that his sobbing had awoken his father.

Emerald eyes stared blankly at the starry sky above. Thranduil's eyes were dry, but his heart ached terribly and he felt like weeping. He lay listening to his son's pitiful sobs and sniffling with all his heart bent upon the agony of his child. The sound of his precious boy weeping would haunt him for years to come, for he knew not how to cure the kind of pain that was wracking his child's heart. And when Legolas finally cried himself to sleep Thranduil remained awake, and listened to his son's peaceful breathing, wishing there was a way to comfort the child.

_This is the son I nearly gave my life for. He is so different, yet still so innocent. My heart breaks to see him grieve so, but I hurt so terribly. Only death can help me, and he must realize that. I have resigned myself to fading, and so I shall. _

_Yet why does my heart yearn for the living so? Why do I still try to fight when I know I should give up? For over a week I have lingered here. Why can I not let go?_

The answer was directly in front of him, and it took many hours of thinking and grieving before he realized what it was.

**To be continued...**

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	42. XXXXI: Dawn of New Story

**Mask of Innocence**

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_With much sadness and joy I post this final installment of Mask of Innocence. Nearly a year in posting has gone by so fast, despite over 263 hours of work according to Microsoft Word it took to write my first 'true' piece. I extend my sincere thanks and gratitude to everyone who managed to drop a review in or stuck around for the entire thing. **Legolass Q; **__I owe so much to you for the help and support you gave me at the beginning of this adventure. I don't really have any thoughts for a sequel, but I have numerous one or two chapter fic ideas hanging around (all with either Thranduil or Legolas) so I should be posting again soon. Well, here goes nothing; my last chapter._

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**Chapter Forty-one: Dawn of a New Story**

It felt as though Legolas' eyes had barely drooped closed when he was jerked awake. Celeborn was staring down at him, and something urgent in his voice made Legolas sit up wide awake.

"Come with me," he ordered. Legolas scrambled up out of bed and hurried to get ready. He glanced first, however, to where his father slept. But he only saw perfectly-folded blankets and the bed made neatly. Rosta lay sadly on the pillow, one stuffed, fuzzy brown arm extended out as though reaching for its only friend that had left him.

Thranduil was gone.

"Celeborn…Celeborn, where is _Ada?_" Legolas cried, but the Lord of Lórien had vanished. He looked about wildly for Celeborn before catching a glimpse of the silver-haired Elven-lord disappearing down a faint path. Legolas immediately darted off in pursuit, but suddenly he turned back. An instant later he was scrambling to catch up with Celeborn once more, but this time Rosta was dangling from the little Elf's hand.

When he finally caught up to him, he tugged on Celeborn's sleeve anxiously, panting slightly. "Please, _hîr-nín_, where is my father? Where is _Ada?"_

"You shall find out soon." He continued on, face showing as much expression as stone, walking steadily.

Shocked at the rough response, Legolas faltered briefly, mouth agape. But when he realized that Celeborn was truly not going to tell him, he darted ahead to catch up.

They advanced through the forest for nearly half an hour, and at the speed Celeborn was walking Legolas began to tire. Panting, he seized the lord's sleeve once more and pulled him to a stop. "Please…" he whispered miserably, and Celeborn turned to see eyes wide and pleading stare up at him. "Why won't you tell me what is happening? My _adar _is sick and hurt." A sob broke past the child's lips. "Please, what is going on?"

At this Celeborn averted his gaze. He bowed his head sadly, and shook his head. "It is out of my hands, _tithen-edhel._ This is something you must do now." He looked up and pointed ahead into a clearing. "You have reached your destination. Now I must leave you."

Tentatively Legolas stepped forward and peered around Celeborn. The emptiness of the clearing surprised him, but so did its beauty. There were little white flowers growing amongst the tall grasses here that swayed in the breeze. On the far side of the meadow there was a break in the trees where the hill broke off and fell steeply to the ground where it was met by more trees, but here the night sky was visible. Stars twinkled softly in the paling night sky, but Ithil was still glowing bright and beautiful. It was not even dawn yet.

He spun around. "_Hîr-nín,_ what am I to do? It is not even dawn-"

But Celeborn was already gone, vanishing down the path from whence he came. Sighing, Legolas turned around and let his gaze rove across the clearing once more, now wondering why he was here. And then he saw it. A figure was perched on a rock near the edge of the hill, still as a statue. The slight stir of the pale-gold hair had caught Legolas' eye, and realizing who it was that he looked upon he caught his breath.

"_Ada,"_ he breathed.

A hand that still bore scars gestured for him to draw closer and Legolas obeyed. He came and stood next to his father cautiously, watching for what he was supposed to do next. He felt oddly submissive, like a dog that was being called to his master's side. "Yes, _Ada?"_ The little prince asked softly.

Thranduil at last turned, meeting the hurt sapphire eyes with gentleness. He forced himself not to flinch at the grief in his child's eyes, suffering he knew he had caused. "Sit with me, if you wish, _tithen-pen,_" he offered tenderly, extending his hand. Legolas said nothing at first and only looked at the proffered hand, then took it quietly and climbed into his father's lap. He did not notice the flinch of pain on his _adar's_ face as he settled in and brushed many of the still-tender wounds. Legolas said nothing still, and Thranduil wished he could simply shake the tenseness and tautness of the boy's muscles out of him. He could not see his little child's face for his son sat with his back against his father's chest, but he felt the little one's pain and anxiety nonetheless.

"You wonder why you are here."

Legolas nodded slightly. "Yes, I do," he murmured. He did not turn around. Still his body was as taut as a drawn bowstring, and Thranduil began to rub the little one's back comfortingly. Gradually Legolas began to relax, but Thranduil still sensed the child's churning feelings.

"Relax, Legolas. This is not one of your tutor's tests, just time for the two of us." Thranduil smiled faintly, attempting at humor, and Legolas did indeed relax slightly. The gentle hum of his father's voice against his back soothed him, and the child settled further into his father's arms. "That's it. I do not bite, little one." Thranduil kissed his son's hair. A serene silence ensued between the two of them, but unlike those observed in the recent past this one was comforting, if not soothing. The pair of them watched the stars twinkle above them and the trees sway in the soft wind.

"Your mother and I used to come here before you were born," Thranduil murmured softly, his eyes cloudy with memory. "We used to sit right here together and watch the evening sky fade to night, the stars twinkle in the heavens, and then the horizon glow with colors as the sun rose."

"Really?"

Thranduil chuckled at the surprise in the innocent voice. "Yes, Legolas. Your mother knew of this meadow long before I did. Her brother and her played here often as children, and when I courted her we met here many a time. It was a very special place for us. Do you know why?"

Legolas turned his head and gazed up at Thranduil with curiosity sparkling in his sapphire eyes. "No," he answered.

Thranduil smiled warmly. "You were born here."

Legolas straightened and turned around fully. "Really, _Ada?"_ He responded, astounded, his eyes bright and wide.

"Aye. Right here, in this very meadow."

Legolas turned back around and sighed, settling against Thranduil sleepily. "I did not know that."

"It's true," the Elven-king stroked his son's arm absently. "She gave me the necklace then. Do you remember me telling you that when I gave it to you?"

"Yes, I do. Then I gave it back to you, because you needed it."

Thranduil smiled faintly, slight sadness marring his features. "I did need it, you were right." He fingered the charm lovingly. He paused, debating over his next words. "Legolas, I…"

"You are welcome, _Ada,"_ Legolas whispered. Thranduil shut his mouth in surprise, but laughed quietly.

"You have my utmost thanks, little one."

Legolas bowed his head and said nothing. Thranduil watched his son for a moment before raising his eyes to watch dawn draw close once more. The dark sky had lightened, and a soft robin-egg blue was slowly spilling over the horizon. The stars were beginning to dim, and Ithil had nearly disappeared from the night sky.

"But what good is it when you will leave me?"

The question that had been tormenting Legolas had finally escaped, and he immediately regretted it. He was not here to hurt his father. Thranduil stiffened slightly, but did not answer at first. "No good deed goes unnoticed, my dear child," Thranduil whispered at last. "Not even by me."

Silence again was their only companion, but it left a bitter taste.

The Woodland King tried desperately to switch subjects. "Rosta was a wonderful companion last night. Thank you for loaning his kindness, Legolas. We owe him much, do you not think?"

Legolas nodded silently against him, and over his shoulder Thranduil could see him fingering the teddy bear absently. "He says that you are welcome, and that he is glad to have been of help," the boy answered emptily. There was soft grief to be heard in his gentle voice, and his father stroked his arm comfortingly, but pulled back when a pang shot through his wrist. Wincing, he tried to flex his fingers and twist his wrist to relax the stiff limb, but the splint and bandages held it firmly and tightly in place. He reached around Legolas and tried to unfasten the tying on the splint with one hand; it was chafing his skin and putting extreme pressure on his arm. _Celeborn needs work with splints, still. This is the third time he has tied it far too tight._

Suddenly Legolas pushed his fumbling hand aside, and took over the work. Thranduil watched as Legolas untied the splint swiftly and easily and pulled the special wrapping aside to let the skin meet air. Thranduil sighed as the cool air swept across his pale flesh, a feeling that felt incredibly refreshing to the broken skin on his arm. Legolas hopped off the rock, leaving Rosta behind in his father's lap, and darted into the forest. Thranduil, bewildered, waited patiently for his son to return knowing full well that he could not get up with a broken leg, let alone find the boy. But in a few minutes Legolas returned, clutching a handful of green herbs in his small hand. He jogged over to his father and set about making a paste with the herbs with a rock, shaking the dew from some of the grass to add moisture. Thranduil watched in fascination as the boy completed his paste and began to carefully rub it over his father's broken arm where his stitches were. After a moment he moved to his father's broken leg where he undid the splint there as well and eventually unfastened the tunic and lightly applied the healing paste on the lacerations. When he was finished, Thranduil looked at Legolas in surprise and gratefulness. The pain was now almost completely gone now.

"Legolas…where did you learn this?"

A flicker of pride crossed the child's face, but he remained as sweet and humble as was his nature. "Daernesta taught me long ago to use herb properties for pain relief," he merely said. "One day I had fallen and scraped my knee, and he taught me how to use an herb to mask the pain for a while. I doubled the herb concentration and used less water to make the effects last longer, like he told me I could do. You won't feel your pain for many hours."

Thranduil was speechless. _By Ilúvatar, you are a brilliant child._ "When we get home we shall have to get you an apprenticeship with Daernesta. Would you like that?"

Legolas shrugged. "As long as I am helping people, I would like that. I know what pain is like, and I would have no other suffer like I have."

His father's eyes softened. "Wise words, my son," he said quietly. "You have grown much over the year, and I cannot wait to see what brilliant ideas you share in the Council Room when you become a Crown Prince of Lasgalen."

"When I become Crown Prince I will insist on recesses, nothing less than an afternoon." Legolas wrinkled his nose, but his eyes sparkled mischievously. "The councilors are _so_ boring, _Ada._ I do not understand how you can bear their endless droning!"

Thranduil laughed. "They do become very cumbersome and tiring, you are right. But soon you will sit beside me, and together we will have to bear the droning of the worker bees as they make their prolonged decisions."

Legolas groaned and crawled sleepily back into his father's lap. Thranduil shifted to make room for him, and cradled the little boy close. Legolas laid his head down upon his father's chest, and this time Thranduil did not wince when he pressed against a wound. But a sudden thought struck Legolas, and the little prince sat upright startlingly fast.

"Wait…You mentioned something about me sitting with you in the Council Room…but…you said…" Legolas' face creased in confusion and thought, but he suddenly brightened with new-found hope. "…You aren't leaving me, _Ada_, are you_?"_

Thranduil smiled warmly and ruffled his child's hair. "No, I am not leaving you. Not after all we've been through."

Legolas grinned widely, bouncing up and down brightly. "You are being honest? You decided not to leave me?"

"It is not a decision I can make, little one," Thranduil amended gently. "My heart was not dying after all. I had been in such a terrible state that I believed that I was going to die, and that I wanted to, but something held me back."

Legolas tipped his head. "What was it?"

Thranduil cupped Legolas' small face in his palm. "It was you, little one," he murmured lovingly. "It was you. I love you, Legolas, with all my heart."

The sapphire eyes gazing into his seemed to burst to life and sparkled warmly. "And I love you too, _Ada_," the little prince promised. He threw his arms around his neck and hugged him tight. "As always."

"Good," Thranduil managed out as he was hugged tightly. Legolas released him and sat back proudly. "I would not have done all I had if it hadn't been out of love for you."

Legolas smiled. "As with me," he responded softly. "I let Sauron hurt me because he promised that he would not harm you or Imrathon. If I didn't have you or Imrathon, I would have run away. But I wanted you to be safe." Legolas smiled as Thranduil's eyes softened and a look of pride and gratitude spread across his face. But then the happiness in Legolas' heart died away when he remembered what had truly happened, and his voice grew bitter. "But he lied to me, and after he gave me the scar he killed Imrathon…and he nearly killed you, and…" Legolas suddenly began to cry softly, tears running in silver streams down the little one's face. Thranduil hushed him and pressed his child's face to his chest, rocking him gently.

"Hush, that is all a thing of the past, nothing more than a memory," Thranduil consoled him. "Nothing more than a memory…"

Legolas nodded against him, his silky hair glowing in the pre-dawn light. "The scar has faded, so it _is_ nothing more than a memory," Legolas sniffed sitting up and looking at his father with reddened eyes.

"I had forgotten all about it. Is it truly gone?"

Legolas nodded and unfastened his shirt to reveal beautiful, flawless flesh. He smiled. "Yes, it is gone, along with Sauron and all my nightmares," Legolas answered happily, relieved.

"He shall never bother us again, little one," Thranduil added in consent. "We are safe."

The prince of Lasgalen bobbed his head in agreement, smiling widely. Then he glanced about the meadow thoughtfully. "_Ada,_ how long will it take you to get better?" He asked slowly.

"Less than a week. For you, three days. Why, _ion-nín?"_

Legolas faced his father once more, and his eyes glittered mischievously. "Oh, nothing."

Thranduil's gaze narrowed playfully. "What are you playing at, Legolas?" he warned sternly, but he smiled. He playfully tickled his son's side, and the boy squealed; it was a sound Thranduil had not heard in weeks and it lifted his heart tremendously.

"All right, I shall tell you." Legolas glanced about before leaning in close, and Thranduil leaned in also, realizing a secret was going to be revealed. "Rosta's begetting day is in four days. May I throw him a surprise party here? We can have a picnic, and invite Taidîr and Adlanniel and Mithrandir and-"

Thranduil placed a finger over his son's lips to stay the endless spout of questions, and he laughed merrily. "Of course! We have to celebrate for him! And we could celebrate for another occasion as well." He gestured for Legolas to lean close once more, and he dropped his voice low. "A little bird told me that Taidîr and Adlanniel have become betrothed."

Legolas sat up in surprise, eyes wide. "Really?" he exclaimed. He bounced around excitedly. "Do you think I can be in the wedding? Can Rosta come? Are you going to-?"

Thranduil threw his hands in the air, laughing. "By Eru, so many questions! They must have fed you something sweet before you left this morning!"

The little prince giggled. "But can we, _Ada?_ May we have a feast or picnic or party or _something_ soon!"

Thranduil smiled warmly. "If it makes you happy, my little Legolas, then I would throw you a thousand parties," he promised softly, and he meant it with all his heart. His glance strayed to the horizon, and his eyes widened as the rainbow of pinks and yellows and golds rippled across the morning sky. He turned his son around and pointed, and the small gasp that was uttered from his son's lips was enough to warm his heart for a year. The two sat together, watching as the brilliant sun peered over the horizon and began its ascent into the pastel-colored sky, and they were at last able to throw all their pain and suffering behind them as easily as the cloak of night Ithil had cast over the land was dashed away.

Thranduil watched in love and awe and his child's eyes grew wide and bright as he watched the sunrise, the colors and light reflected off his beautiful crystal orbs. The little one clung to him like a plant to water, and Thranduil felt within him his child's _faer _rejoicing. And he felt his own harmony lift in song, for in the first time in nearly a year he was truly happy and content. His son was laughing and bright, he was healing, Sauron had been defeated, a wedding (and a birthday) were in the near future, and hope had been kindled in the hearts of his people once more. Thranduil had saved his child and his realm, and he would have done it all over again if he was given the choice. His boy, his precious Greenleaf, was his once more. He had nearly paid the ultimate price for this little Elven child, but it had meant the world to both of them.

Thranduil knew that not all stories were so perfect like the childish ones he and Vanya had whispered to their child on warm summer nights. The story of his own life had been pierced and broken with pain, anguish, and death. But although the story of his life with his precious son had begun on terrible circumstances with the death of a beloved mother and wife, Thranduil knew with all his heart that this story had been blessed with the return of the beautiful innocence of the child that had marked the beginning of a better life for them all. This story was one of the rare ones that truly possessed a happy ending that would last for years to come.

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"**That's what it takes to be a hero, **

**a little gem of innocence inside you that makes you want to believe that there still exists a right and wrong, **

**That decency will somehow triumph in the end."**

**-Lise Hand**

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* * *

_One last note; for those who were curious, this story was slightly based on fact. The dates at the beginning aren't random..._

Appendix B:

(The Third Age)

"2060: The power of Dol Guldur grows. The Wise fear it may be Sauron taking shape again.

2063: Gandalf goes to Dol Guldur. Sauron retreats and hides in the East. The Watchful Peace begins. The Nazgûl remain quiet in Minas Morgul."

_The Watchful Peace has now just begun for Thranduil and his realm, and it will last for another 397 years until Sauron returns to Dol Guldur with even more power. Plenty of time to at least get Legolas to warrior status, eh? (Fun fact: three years after the Watchful Peace ends, Sméagol murders Déagol) Anyways, I'll let you all get back to your lives as normal, LOTR-loving citizens (as normal as we can be, it's difficult for me to accomplish that). Thanks for all the great memories, and have a wonderful summer._

_ArcherGal2932_


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